L'humanité D'un Monstre
by FreyrFnk
Summary: From the underworld to the Recon Corps, it was an interesting journey to make and Rivaille couldn't say he regretted a moment of it. Starts before Recon. Dark themes, questionable morals and later homosexual BDSM/kink relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_The first time I was caught stealing, the men had a dog they set on me. It was a vicious, nasty thing – it smelt of wet animal and sickly sweet decay turned its breath lurid. It had no hesitation in goring me however possible. I don't remember how young I was, just that I was young. I remember they cheered the dog on as he bit into my leg. I hated them then, as much as I feared the animal attacking me. No one stopped to help, no one would because none looked kindly on thieves no matter their justification. No matter that half of them were orphaned children looking for a meal. _

_I didn't die though, owed my life to some fool with too-kind eyes that seemed to mock me – pity me even as he demanded the men back off with their pet. He offered no words of comfort, only his name as he cleaned, stitched and bandaged the wounds. _

_He asked my name, but I never gave it._

_He gave me a bed to sleep in, but I left before he could wake – unwilling to be trapped in some circle of debt to some bastard with a need to dirty his hands with the weak. _

_I was wary of dogs ever after, though as I grew older it waned – with the knowledge I could easily kill one should another attempt what that first did. _

_It taught me a valuable lesson as well, and thereafter I was never caught. Not for a very long time. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

The tavern was full of bodies as the sun began to set, milling about or near collapse with tankards of lager in hand. Some harassed the waitresses, others puffed foul smelling cigarettes and tossed cards, chips and money on the table between themselves and acquaintances. These were regulars, the smell of the tavern as much a part of themselves as the clothes they donned day after day.

It was disgusting – how settled they were, how happy with just being. But they weren't the targets, no, they had nothing to give as it was – although should situations become dire they themselves may find a target on their back. In the far corner a group of men sat and chatted over topped glasses, they wore the uniform of the legion; khaki and white with that ridiculous harness twined about their bodies as closely as a lover. They were clean cut, their posture rigid and their expressions flat. From a glance one would know these were not men of the Military Police, posh bastards that they were, they would never dirty themselves with such a place. Neither were they Garrison. No, these men were intimately acquainted with death – and they were dangerous. Perhaps that was why he targeted them, despite the slightly hostile outlook on the Recon Corps; they were the only division to pose any real threat.

So he watched and he waited, as they drank and talked in hushed voices – never glancing away from their circle yet always seeming aware. It was enthralling to see, in a place where looking through wool was a favored state of mind, their eyes were opened – forcefully or otherwise – they lived without the delusions of the general populace.

In a way, it was a test of his own abilities, to pit them against senses fine-tuned in an environment where a second's hesitation or distraction could and would mean death. So he waited more, sipping at the glass of vine he was likely too young to be consuming. It wasn't as though anyone cared, not in this part of the capitol. Here, he was known – not by name but by face and reputation – and had little to fear from the sheep milling about, drinking away their worries or stress before heading home to sleep and repeat routine the next day. It was loathsome, but understandable.

It was also entirely understandable (at least to him) that he would find these soldiers in their midst so fascinating.

He watched them become more and more inebriated, more relaxed and boisterous the more alcohol that slid past their lips. He wanted to sneer, did so internally, mocked them their stupidity of forgetting where they were. They were not on their turf now, they were in his world – where not paying attention could land you in a gutter with your throat slit and purse strings cut. Fools, all of them, so arrogant in their abilities and so condescending to a world that would swallow them whole and regurgitate them without a second's hesitation.

People feared Titan's, called them monsters and fled from them like rats. He knew better, knew how monstrous humanity could be – how disgusting and vile. Titans were mindless, pathetic. Humans were premeditated; they could be manipulated, bought or threatened into committing atrocities that would make Titans look like child's play.

He held no fear of either. Fear was the equivalent of death and there was no room for it.

So when the Recon soldiers rose, staggering from the bar, he made quick work of lifting their coin. It was laughable – he hadn't degraded to such petty theft in so very long. Now, he lifted goods from cargo ships and the rich, had them pissing their knickers and sobbing as they begging their lives be spared. Even many of his own comrades feared him, feared apathetic eyes and ruthless murder – snatching lives with the same whimsical quality pigs were slaughtered for food. There were bigger hauls to be had than some fool's pocket change, but it was the potential of being caught that drove him to it.

He slipped away, a dark shadow not to be recounted. Or so he planned. A vice grip at his arm set the first wave of warning, though he had little time to react before he was spun and shoved against a wall. Dark grey eyes, impassive and unafraid met equally stoic blue of a towering blonde – one of the men he'd counted among the sots stumbling from the bar. He'd thought him equally gone to danger; he'd obviously been wrong. Yet, there was no overt hostility, although he didn't relax, merely waited – for an opening or the man to speak.

"I believe you have something that doesn't belong to you." The blonde's tone was flat, unrevealing and he felt the first tingle of interesting – of respect for him.

"Perhaps they should've held onto it better." He replied, an easy drawl.

The blonde tilted his head, almost considering, but those too-alert eyes never stopped watching. Waiting for some sort of violent action. He wasn't a fool, he could easily feel the strength in the hand holding his arm – how much was held back was another matter.

"Perhaps, but stealing is a crime. Technically I should turn you in." He laughed at the blonde, who seemed momentarily stunned and near recoiling, but equally fascinated at the feral grin he was given.

"Only when an individual steals…"

The statement didn't need to be elaborated. Taxes were high, poverty was high – damned near theft by the Crown of its own people to live in posh houses and castles, bear titles they did nothing more to earn than sit on over-fed asses. The silence stretched almost thoughtfully.

"You do not look as though you need to steal." He blinked slowly at the man, chuckling again.

"Do I not? Perhaps it was just the challenge, then."

How strange, there was still no anger – wariness, a tensing in preparation for action… but no hostility. The guy was unnerving in a way, entirely too composed, almost detached. He could see this man going far, perhaps one day soon, perhaps in the not-so-distant future.

"Perhaps you should choose your marks better next time."

It was warning, but the hand was gone and the blonde turned to leave, green cloak dancing about his shoulders. It left him confused and slightly bewildered, a warning but no threats – a promise without immediate action and then the guy departed… He tilted his head, dark hair falling just past his shoulder, bound in a leather tie dusted over his face. What was even the point of approaching him? Besides letting it be known he was not to be taken as an incapable fool.

He hummed thoughtfully, dusting at his coat sleeve where the hand had rested. Warmth still lingered there and it was uncertain if he dusted at invisible dirt or the feeling itself.

Shame he hadn't asked him his name. Perhaps then he could have paid him a visit in the dead of night, see if that stoicism held up with a blade pressed to his throat while he lay unassuming and slumbering in bed. It sent a thrill of excitement through him.

Maybe one day.

* * *

**Notes: **

Written to A7X – _The Wicked End _

Has a slow start, starting before the time Rivaille joined the Recon Corps. Though will likely not go too in depth with it because that would deviate from the plot… but just a bit of buildup I guess.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_They say murder is hard – that taking a life is the worst sin one human can commit against another. It is a taboo, it is more damning than being a coward, a thief – any number of things. It is because we are so few, I would assume. _

_But they lied. Murder is _easy. _Taking a life is simple. _

_Living with yourself after isn't. I learned the hard way, as everyone must who watches the light of life fade from the eyes of a cooling corpse at their feet. It feels as though a piece of yourself dies with that person – like we weren't meant to kill each other. It's fucking stupid, how simple such a thing is… but that pain doesn't last. The doubt and the fear fades with time. _

_I killed my first man and spent weeks attempting to scrub the feeling of his blood from my hands, drink down the sound and sight of his screams and pleading eyes as he bled out on the cobbled street. My nightmares recreated it in exacting detail. It was disgusting. _

_The second time I killed, it was easier. The guilt, remorse – humanity, that clung from the first seemed a bit farther away. _

_And it only faded more and more. But I always made sure I watched, as some form of penance I suppose – for stealing their life from them… then I would clean. Scrub the blood from stone or wood, I would dispose of the body – but couldn't quite help keeping some form of memento to mark the occasion. _

_It was sick in a way, looking back. Twisted. Because I never felt guilt as I watched them die, not after that first one. It was hardly different than hearing a pig squeal its last as the axe decapitates it. _

_Simple. Easy… fascinating. _

_I had an entire room dedicated to their little mementos. A room of cases and useless bits – a button, a photograph, or a ring; something that marked them the way a gravestone never would. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

There was a shipment to be picked up, one of very few details which meant it was more than likely people. It was one of the more unsavory parts of the job; fetching these tiny little humans destined for underground places that grown men of any moral character would flinch at.

He hadn't flinched in a long time, but then again, he hadn't exactly clung to his humanity with both hands.

Some of them would be whored for the right price, others would be trained as courtesans – if they were pretty enough. The boys perhaps had it even worse, for now anyway. They would be cut, were they deemed suitable to keep those with the coin _pleasured _during their lonely nights away from child-bearing wives. They would cease to be men in any conventional sense of the word, he didn't envy them their fate… didn't really pity them either. There were worse things they could find themselves stuck with.

At least when they were being fucked by bureaucrats with too much money they would have a warm place to sleep and meals to fill their stomachs. The same couldn't be said for those who escape and would face the streets themselves, without protection.

"Levi." Rivialle turned, facing the man addressing him as he jogged up.

"Time to move." Was the bland response when he was handed a piece of folded paper with an address.

Perhaps it was stupid of them, to pass along information in such a way – anyone could see it. However, they were relatively safe from the Military Police. Most of them were greedy, lazy – the right sum of money would buy their blindness. It made his job easier regardless. Rivaille took a final drag of the cigarette perched between his lips, flicked it to the sodden ground and gestured the man ahead of himself, unwilling to test their fear of not trying to put a knife in his back.

There was very little brotherhood here, with hands hired for a task – it was rarely ever the same crew and when it was, only then could some measure of respect be given them. The rest were shit that would be treated as he felt like treating them. They paid no loyalty to anyone, merely to the coin in their pocket, in a way just as loathsome as the Police – meant to protect but so easily compromised.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

It was a clear night, not a cloud in the sky and the moon shone down bright and clear. It was the type of night that begged trouble – he would much prefer clouds, fog or both. At least then it was more difficult to discern their activities as they shepherded the cargo from the ship and into caged, covered wagons to be sent to their respective destinations. They wouldn't leave until he was ready, so Rivaille paced the perimeter – watching the men at work, occasionally reprimanding some idiot who felt they needed to touch the merchandise.

This cargo wasn't for them and he wouldn't watch it roughed by boars with no self-respect.

He was tense tonight, a lingering sensation centering between his shoulders that screamed of someone prying –watching. However, they were not interrupting and he would leave them to linger until he was ready to confront them. If they tried to leave early, possibly to report the activities, he would kill them.

Simple as that.

They were almost done when trouble started, he was near the end of the row of men ushering the cargo forward; they were children, wide eyed and terrified and clinging to each other as they moved between the hardened men. One of them, one that had been giving insolent looks all evening was who started sent the relatively peaceful job down-hill.

It started with a scream that was quickly muffled and a rough voice demanded they shut the fuck up.

Rivaille stopped, cold eyes fixating on the man with a small girl pinned in his hand, hugging her close to his body as she thrashed and attempted to free herself. She was pretty, he thought, long blonde hair and big blue eyes. Her skin was filthy from the travel but it didn't really deter from the fact she would likely be a beautiful woman one day. It was clear to see the boar's intentions as he rubbed himself against her back and hissed into her ear.

"Achen." He didn't raise his voice, didn't have to for the man to look up with an aggravated expression.

Rivaille took a step toward them, gesturing to the girl with a sharply arched brow. Hadn't he told them? Some of the others had been touchy, had rushed the cargo – but none had been so blatantly insubordinate. The man sneered and tossed shaggy, greasy hair from his eyes.

'_Disgusting piece of shit, aren't you?_' It was a fleeting thought, interrupted by his uneducated drawl.

"Can' expect us ta werk withou' some compensation."

Oh big words now was it?

"I thought I was quite clear you were not to touch them. Perhaps I should have given a demonstration."

The aloof tone did little for the man's mood and he jerked the girl harshly, causing her to whimper. There would likely be bruises on her arm, neck and face where he'd held her. Rivaille felt a sting of annoyance. Couldn't anyone just listen? Or were they under the assumption because he wasn't some freak giant that he held no real power?

"Wassit ta you what I do wit' tha bitch. Not like she ain't goin' to some shithole to do this anyway. Best she learn early."

There was a leer in his voice and Rivaille found himself sighing, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he casually approached, hands slid into the warm confines of his pockets. He was within arm's reach when, quick as a striking snake, he grabbed Achen's wrist in a grip strong enough to crunch the sensitive bones of the joint. Another cluck of tongue and he leaned in closer, pushing the girl's shoulder to urge her back into the group.

"You would do well to remember your place. They are not for you to touch or defile, you are here to ensure they are delivered. Nothing more."

His voice was low, soft enough no one could hear them and the disinterested expression never shifted. Achen bit back a wince but snarled and jerked his hand free, Rivaille let him go, stepping back with a measuring gaze.

"An' what you gon' do if I don', midget?"

Rivaille sighed, long and suffering, eyes casting upwards as though praying for patience. Did they never have anything new? As if he cared about his height when he could take down bigger, stronger men than the twit in front of him. Achen made a threatening step forward and Rivaille chuckled.

"You're problematic. I don't like problems and I don't like loose ends."

His arms were crossed, one hand tucked into his coat and fingering the gun tucked there. Perhaps he should avoid shooting him, the noise would attract attention. So he let the fool think he might and when the asshole lunged, Rivaille neatly sidestepped and grabbed his arm, jerking it back painfully as he planted a foot in the center of his back and stomped down. Achen let out a growl of rage, but at the angle he really couldn't risk too much lest he damage something important. Rivaille leaned in close, free hand curling into the man's disgusting hair and jerking his head back harshly.

"You should have listened, maybe you could have used that coin to buy yourself a nice woman for the night."

Achen didn't have time to speak or respond at all, really, before Rivaille's other hand released his arm and grabbed his jaw – a sharp jerking twist and the neck broke. He stepped back, kicked the body just to make sure before nodding and turning to the rest of the workers and cargo with an arched brow. A white handkerchief was tugged from an inside pocket and Rivaille set about whipping as much of Achen's filth from his skin as he could.

"Well, what are you dawdling for? We are on a schedule."

To work they went, somewhat paler than before perhaps, but much more inclined to listen. Perhaps he should just kill one of them at the start of every job to underline his point. They were really no better than dogs, embarking on a constant pissing contest of who was the real alpha and only a display of brutish violence would convince them that they didn't even touch omega.

The children were huddling together, watching him with wide, terrified eyes when Rivaille turned to them. He sighed, strolled to the wagon and opened the door, with a gesture of his hand they were clambering inside, though they did so tremulously; as though expecting that violence to be released upon them at any moment. None were touched as they entered and they all seemed to relax marginally as he closed and locked the door with a padlock before turning back to the body.

Now he had clean-up to worry about. Rivaille sighed, at least they were close to the river, tying the body down to a slab of stone and shoving him off the side was good enough for now. It wasn't as though he would be searched for or missed. Just another nameless corpse to eventually, _maybe _be fished up.

That was one business taken care of, now he had another.

With a final, cursory look to ensure things were moving smoothly, Rivaille made his way to an alley shadowed decently and leaned against a wall. He waited only a moment before offering the illusion of languor as he sparked a rolled cigarette and took a long, harsh drag from it. Their watcher decided to make himself known as he exhaled.

"Quite the cold heart you have. Moving children to be sold and yet killing one of your men for touching them."

The voice was thoughtful, and the recognition trickled down Rivaille's spine like icy water. His gaze slid briefly to the shadows before returning to his casual watch of the proceedings.

"I don't believe I got your name last time." He offered as the only reply, it hadn't been a question after all. And it was the truth.

"Erwin." Simple enough, but Rivaille thought he could detect amusement. Interesting.

He took another drag from the cigarette as he rolled the name in his mind. It would be easier to find him now, a name and a face was really all he needed to get whatever information he needed. Rivaille hummed thoughtfully, exhaled a plume of smoke and allowed the silence to linger almost awkwardly before he spoke again.

"I don't suppose you'll open your mouth about this." _Unless you want to die. _Was left unsaid.

Erwin chuckled this time and Rivaille heard the softest shift. He was quiet, for someone so big, calm and controlled. Usually the big ones were the loudest of them all. So self-assured in their power due to their size. This Erwin was subtle, calculating – stoic. Perhaps it was a side-effect of fighting creatures one-hundred times their size and more regularly.

"I'll hold my tongue, though it is rather disgusting to do so."

Indeed, but no more disgusting than what could happen if it were a different thug overseeing the transportation. All these children could turn up traumatized, beaten and raped. Instead, they were in relatively good health – handed over to hands that would mold them for their futures. A much better alternative in Rivaille's opinion.

"Good."

It was strange, how casual their conversation over something so deplorable – and yet neither was under any illusions to how the world worked. Not enough to think some heroic, self-righteous tattle-telling would save any lives. Perhaps a few people would be made a spectacle of, convenient people, and then it would all continue.

Nothing would change.

Rivaille flicked the fag to the ground, stomped it out before shoving his hands back into his pocket and leaving the alley. The watcher lingered, only a moment – until he rejoined the rest of the men, and then he too was gone. Rivaille decided he would need a very long, hot bath to rid himself of the night's filth. Most especially touching Achen. His hand still felt greasy from the experience.

* * *

**Notes: **

Slow build, but getting there. If you have any music recommendations I'd love to hear them – always looking for new music and I quite enjoy writing questionable shit to semi-cheerful tunes.

I also decided I liked Rivaille put into a twisted grey area of morality. Yes this is bad but it could be worse so let's go with the lesser of two evils … idk I just like the tight-rope-walking concept when applied to morals and humanity. Makes it more fun.

Written to Florence and the Machine – _Howl _

The Crystals – _Then He Kissed Me _


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_When one grows up on the streets, lives on the streets – one learns to fight. It was one of the first lessons of life I experienced… well, not really. Others came earlier, but fighting stands out particularly. The better you can fight the higher your chances of survival. _

_And I was very, very good at fighting. _

_I had to be. I was smaller than other people my age, smaller than those bigger and much fucking worse than peers. They still dreamt of happy homes, of loving parental figures. It must have been a nice delusion, short lived though it was. _

_Homelessness is unforgiving, not for the weak of heart or will. _

_It was a fight – daily just for the right to live. How many people can say they survived that? _

_So I fought, and fought and fought – until the entire world was nothing but violence. I improved, learned from those I beat and those I lost to. It was a constant struggle just to keep up, to carve out some tiny little insignificant niche to call one's own. It took years, but I finally made a place for myself. One marked by fear and death. _

_To them I was a monster. Ruthless and heartless – likely they stopped seeing me as human. _

_I can't really blame them, I very likely was everything they perceived – perhaps worse for the disregard with which I did what I did. _

_But it was oh-so-easy. Not caring. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

Erwin.

Erwin.

Erwin.

It was a name, a person, that circled his thoughts endlessly. The enigma he presented, the strangeness of his actions and his curiosity. Rivaille could do nothing to remove the blonde from his thoughts as he attended to any and all of his business. He thought of him as he delivered those children to their new life, as he collected the money and slunk back to his spotless home. He thought of him when he killed again, when he stole good five percent of the latest cargo transport under the averted eyes of the Military Police – wondering if the man would yet again walk away had he been there.

He was infuriating, the very thought of him, and yet so addictive that Rivaille couldn't stop. It was almost masochistic, the amount of time he spent musing over the soldier.

It took longer than Rivaille predicted to obtain the information he wanted, almost needed.

He was sick and fucking tired of thinking about Erwin, Erwin, Erwin – all hours of the day and night. Invading every crevice of his thoughts with that stoic attitude and that strange, dominating aloofness. He was pissed by that time – fed up and done. He would drag out every secret, would pay that silently promised visit. Would be done with this whole mess and return to that life that was as much a habit as breathing.

And the strange, hiccupping upset would be over.

I was ready for this confrontation, ready to tear into him for something he likely wasn't even aware of. However, he had to wait. The Recon Corps were sent out on some new scouting mission and it only made the itch to bury a blade in the blonde bastard to the hilt. Rivaille didn't enjoy things that upset the order and logic he established in his life. He was a very organized man, and whatever interrupted that – caused waves – was eliminated. It was how he learned to deal with things. If it became a problem, remove it. His blood practically sang, rabid with the impending violence.

At last the night came, and he was giddy with anticipation. Rivaille spent the day scouting Erwin Smith's abode. It wasn't guarded, the man was just a soldier, even if he was one rumored to be in line for the position of Commander. He would make a very good one, the thug mused quietly to himself. It was sort of a shame he would have to die for poking his nose where it didn't belong. For being too damned alluring in all the strange ways that occupied dreams and thoughts.

It was a small home, practically an apartment and very utilitarian. It was the type of place whose occupant spent very little time actually living within it. This was all well and good, the setting made little difference to Rivaille.

So when night fell he slipped inside – past locks that were child's play and sneered at the lack of security precautions. No matter how strong, it was ridiculous to leave one's resting place so open. It invited a knife to the back – even if from as unexpected a place as a comrade. Jealousy could be an amazing motivator after all, even if the man had no apparent enemies.

It only annoyed Rivaille more that Erwin was so well liked.

Quietly, carefully he slipped into the man's bedroom – where soft breaths alerted him its occupant was indeed there. Rivaille avoided looking at him, those breaths were shallow – a light sleep easy to rouse from should alarm be raised. Even in rest, he guess Erwin would be the type to sense an intent stare and wake; senses tuned by so much time so close to death. He approached the bed with caution, wary of loose boards or noisy nails – despite how well built the place looked every house had its quirks.

The blade glimmered deadly sharp and pristine steel in the slant of moonlight falling through the window and Rivaille finally allowed his eyes to land on the man.

Charcoal was met with sky blue, watching him with an impassive expression that caused him to nearly stumble in surprise. He'd been watching? For how long? There was no panic, he wasn't stupid – wasn't rash and immediately sought a different approach than what was originally planned. After all, he always had fallbacks.

Quick as his small formed allowed, much too fast for most to keep pace with, he was astride the blonde, blade pressed against his neck and lips pulling back in a humorless smile.

"You should really look into better security." He drawled indifferently, their stare never breaking.

Erwin studied him, it felt intense – to be looked at as though he were being looked straight through. The man didn't utter a sound, lay there with all the signs of being at ease. It spiked curiosity and wariness in Rivaille, this silent, stoic confidence. Irked him like no other and he pressed the blade closer, drawing a dribble of blood from the pale throat.

He watched the crimson pool on steel, slide down it and drip from the tip. Erwin watched him watching. It was distracting, the heat of the blonde's body, the coolness in those eyes. It shouldn't be surprising how caught off guard he was when Erwin suddenly grabbed his wrist. Rivaille jerked, eyes widening a fraction in surprise as he attempted to tear himself free of the steel grip. It ground the bones in his slim wrist together, threatened to crush bone with its intensity and Rivaille hissed, narrowed eyes at Erwin as he swung his free arm in for a punch.

Erwin jerked, rolled them so that the blow was glancing to his jaw though still probably painful, evidenced by the tick in his jaw. The blade went skittering as he wrenched Rivaille's arm, causing the smaller man to gasp from the sharp pain that shot from wrist all the way to his shoulder. Erwin rolled again and sent Rivaille careening to the floor, following with the grace of a predator. Those eyes were stony as he wiped at the blonde on his neck, glanced down at it before dropping his hand.

Rivaille scrabbled to his feet, body crouched and legs spread to brace for impact or flight. The first tingles of adrenaline pounded through his system, setting his heart racing and pupils dilating, though breath remained steady. This would be _exciting _and he hadn't felt such a rush in so very long.

He lunged again with a snarl, feinted a punch and landed a knee in the man's side. Erwin grunted, stumbled and Rivaille flew at him again – and again – and again. Erwin never attacked, guarded and deflected and dodged, or took the hit. But never reciprocated and it ignited a fury beneath Rivaille's skin like no other. Why wouldn't the bastard fight back? Perhaps he saw Rivaille as inferior, nothing to be feared.

He was oh so wrong.

Another blade materialized, pulled from the side of his boot as he leapt and twirled a kick for Erwin's jaw. He hesitated little when his ankle was grabbed viciously, leg wrenched, went with the flow of being jerked and twisted his body to latch onto the blonde. Erwin's eyes widened in surprise, not expecting the counter and they both went tumbling to the ground. Rivaille sliced at him with the blade, smaller than the other but no less deadly. Red blossomed between them from the gash in Erwin's arm, yet the man hardly grunted as he focused on immobilizing Rivaille.

It really didn't take long. Strength he may have, but Erwin had size – and he seemed impossibly strong. No matter how he writhed and kicked and tumbled them across the floor, he couldn't escape those hands and their vice-like grip.

It came to an end with his head smashing back against the floor, lancing pain down his back and dazing the senses. Erwin took but a second to disarm and pin him down, a leg shoved high between Rivaille's own, each wrist pressed to the floor by a crushing grip. He was frowning at him, though his eyes betrayed nothing, it left Rivaille breathless, that immovable control.

"Calm down and I'll let you leave, though I would like to understand the reasoning behind killing me." Firm and soft, still not angered by the obvious hostility.

"You're a loose end." Erwin tilted his head at the spat reply and narrowed eyes.

"I don't have to be." Ambiguous, confusing, but the expression was flat, touched only by the barest hint of something Rivaille couldn't name.

Erwin leaned in close, weight heavy over Rivaille, firm and staunch. Hot breath ghosted his ear when Erwin spoke again, covering the silence Rivaille left between them.

"You're strong. Let me understand you…"

He felt the first spike of arousal, swarming over the pounding adrenaline with a slow-burning fire.

His breath hitched, but the fury wasn't long to follow when Erwin looked down to his leg, pressed snugly against the obvious erection burgeoning Rivaille's trousers. Humiliation and embarrassment tinted the anger a degree worse, though he didn't blush. He snarled, lips pulling back to bare teeth in a feral snarl that seemed to catch Erwin off guard by the action, leaned back.

Rivaille kneed him in the groin with every ounce of strength he had and Erwin doubled forward with a gasp of pain, eyes squeezing shut. An elbow to the jaw, knocked him off balance and Rivaille took his opening and fled, heart pounding in his ears and brain awash with confusion and something near panic.

He didn't understand, not at all. What the fuck happened? He was supposed to kill him, at the very least, Erwin should have been incited to violence by the attempt… yet he wasn't. He still offered him a reasonable out and Rivaille couldn't stop the pang of regret he hadn't taken it… but he didn't understand the reaction he had to Erwin's proximity, to being pinned with the freakishly large man hovering over him with that almost fucking serene expression.

So he did what he was good at doing and responded with violence, with anger – and escaped.

Maybe he would figure it out if he slept on it, though he ventured to guess sleep would be far from coming in what was left of the night.

* * *

**Notes: **

Review pls, recommend music if you'd like… let me know if there are any errors because I write at odd hours of the early morning when sleep is a bygone thing and … well, that isn't exactly the best time for a clear head, is it?

Written to

Florence and the Machine – _Drumming Song_

Machinae Supremacy – _Persona _


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_My mother used to spend Sunday's making baked goods. Most of them were pastry treats for the coming week, but there were delicious smelling loaves of bread as well. She would always send me out early in the morning, to be "out of her hair" while she cooked and cleaned. _

_I never went far though. _

_The smell was delicious, tempting, so I would linger close to the house and fucking salivate like a starved dog over the delicious smell of croissants, fougasse and baguettes. It was a warm, rich smell but had nothing on the sweet, fruity tang of the pastries. The apple strudel was my favorite, despite the delicious fruit tarts she made on occasion. The strudels were best with coffee, black with no sugar – the only way any self-respecting coffee drinker would take it. _

_All that sugar and cream is disgusting. Insulting, really, to the effort put into making the beverage. _

_Sometimes I asked to help her bake, but she always laughed me out of the house, more like a cottage, set at the edge of the capitol. It was a nice place to live. She ran a bakery, so her desserts were the best, although I can't imagine doing for enjoyment what one does for work. _

_My mother was just that way. Always thinking of others before herself. _

_It made her beautiful, more so than any woman I've met since. _

_I don't know what happened to father, she never spoke of him, but looked unbearably sad whenever I asked. So I stopped asking. Still, sometimes, I would wake at night to find her curled over a rustic picture frame in the dead of night and silently crying. _

_I hate when people cry. I am not one for comfort… but when people like my mother cry it is entirely different… it _hurts _deep in my chest. It was an indescribable sensation. I wanted to comfort her, but knew she would cover her sorrow to assure me things were fine and to go back to bed. _

_I never imagined a day, or a life when she wouldn't be there; that comforting presence that made the tiny little space home – despite our lack of many material possessions. Life was hard, but it was… happy I suppose – but that could be the delusions of a child, or fancy on my part. Nostalgia I suppose. _

_That Sunday, she sent me out, with a list of chores to do and a smile. Like any other time I left to do them, intent on working as quickly as possible to lounge in the shade of the small pear tree outside of our house and listen to her hum and sing as she cooked, nap and enjoy those comforting smells. _

_It was a strange day, I hardly remember it… almost surreal. I returned early, unable to ease a knot of tension that formed in my stomach a few hours after I left. As I neared our home, I saw black, black smoke in the sky and the tension turned to dread. I remember running, falling some – and I wasn't the only one. Others had flocked to the area, shouting things I can't remember but were likely attempts to organize a way to put out the fire. _

_I loathe fire. Purifying they say it is, and they burn corpses on a pyre to send them off. _

_Fuck purifying. It is destruction; suffocating, burning destruction and I've never loomed around to watch fucking corpses sent off in a blaze of flame so similar to that which took away everything. _

_I remember watching the house collapse, charred and blackened, and foul smelling. Gone was the warmth of baked bread and comfort and thoughtless singing – replaced by shouts and the crackling growl of that fucking fire. _

_She died in there. No one knows how it started, simply that it did and I blamed all of them for not noticing sooner, not putting out the inferno that devoured her – bones and all. I didn't even have a memento of her in the end. _

_Above all, I later learned, I blamed myself. For not realizing something would happen. For not being there to save her. _

_I haven't eaten sweets since then. They taste bitter and flighty on my tongue. Never as good as I remember them – never as comforting. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

The next several days were blur of going through routine on autopilot. There were people to ensure paid their debts and kept their silence, a man to make disappear, some new herb that was growing which – when smoked, would induce euphoria and appetite or conversely lethargy. It was interesting, the guy offered him a sample but Rivaille graciously turned it down. He wasn't one for mind altering substances beyond the occasional bout of drinking – and even that was rare.

In this business it did not pay to have your wits in a haze –and Rivaille's were most definitely in a haze.

He had come no closer to discerning what the attraction, near obsession with Erwin Smith was. He found himself muttering the name as he lay in bed at night, tasting and feeling how it rolled on his tongue. He recalled glacial blue eyes and the firm press of muscles, that indomitable strength with which he held Rivaille and the near clinical cleanliness. It all rolled together to make an intimidating package that refuse to fucking remove itself from the fore of his thoughts.

Add on top of that his own attraction to the man, because when one popped an erection in the middle of being pinned there was little doubt as to the attraction.

He'd been pinned before without such a thing ever happening.

Still, he kept his distance, kept every sense he could spare wary for the man's appearance. There was a niggling awareness that he _would _turn up somewhere, sometime. And Rivaille wasn't sure in what way they would meet. Would his wrath finally be incited? Would he turn Rivaille in?

The man shook his head with a sharp jerk, pinched the bridge of his nose and took a steadying breath. Now was not the time to fucking thing about such things. He had a job to do. Granted, this job wasn't helping matters. Not at all.

He was a wealthy man, this Francis and while Rivaille normally wasn't one for Burglary – this guy had plenty. Add on to that the target was a statue – a piece of art rumored to be from before the appearance of Titans. It was carved of marble, a material only seen in the architecture of the King's castle – and that had been standing for decades upon decades, so long people had forgotten. It would be fascinating to see this art, to see what it looked like and wondered if the rumors of it being from some place where once men wore a dress-like garment called a toga resided with ample leisure when it came to morals, and an entire pantheon of vengeful gods.

Rivaille knew where Francis lived, scoped the place and its security the day before. Now, he merely had to tail the man himself – this is where the issue began.

He was an investor, being someone of plentiful wealth he wasn't reckless with his investments and had a knack for picking up proficient, successful businesses and giving them that extra push. Currently, Rivaille was stood in one of those establishments far closer to the palace than he'd ever been – ever wanted to be. It was a _patisserie _– and hosted every smell to evoke every painful memory he had. There was no way he would get out of purchasing something, to avoid looking suspicious and all he could do was focus on not vomiting up that morning's breakfast as he stared at the loaves of golden-brown bread and flaky sweets with rich, sugary-fruit insides.

His eyes closed briefly, flicked open as a bark of laughter sounded from the back. Francis was discussing some proposition for the owner to cater at some affair or another that was coming up. He was a boisterous man with red cheeks and scraggly hair and voluminous stomach. He looked as though he hit the drink a bit often, but had good humor enough.

He still disgusted Rivaille, but then, most people did.

Except this man was more literal, even from the distance he stood, he'd been able to pick out several crumbs and stains on his clothing – likely from an over-sized brunch. Disgusting. Filthy.

He stepped up when the young girl working behind the counter looked at him, blinking owlish eyes.

"A dozen cherry strudels and four loaves of your freshest bread."

She seemed taken aback, whether by his tone or the size of the order was unknown. Still, she nodded and set to work arranging the order in bags and a box respectively. He watched her with a critical eye, hands already fingering the coin purse about to be substantially lighter. He could afford it. With a sigh he handed over the stated coin and spun to leave the bakery, relief rushing through the farther he ventured from that overwhelming, gut wrenching smell. Although, it wasn't entirely escape as he carried so much in his arms.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

The was an old lady who lived near the slums, she lived in a decently size home and lived on the pension left her by her husband. She was a staunch old woman, who had no qualms of cuffing the ears of Sina's elite criminals. Rivaille would know, she'd put a wooden spoon to his head many a time and even when faced with his murderous glare only balanced her wrinkled hands on her hips and peered at him over thick, thick glasses.

He had to admire her. For what little she had she put her time in to helping others.

This helping went in the form of offering the orphans in the area a place to sleep, a meal and someone to aid stitching their clothing or, when she was able, sewing them new garments. Not all of the children were willing to accept her help, but many did and she really needed any amount of help she could get. Although, he wasn't sure how much she would appreciate help in this form. Filling brats with sugar was never a good thing, but the city was their playground.

He knocked on the door and it was briskly answered, the stern, wrinkled face relaxing into a warm smile as she gestured him quickly inside. No one knew of this, they thought him heartless, some fucking monster in human skin – and Rivaille encouraged this, would readily agree with it… but couldn't quite stomp out that protective instinct that urged him to do something, however small for the fucking brats.

"Levi, dear, it's been far too long. The children will be ecstatic."

No, they wouldn't. Rivaille figured they rather feared him regardless of how much idolization shown in their eyes. He offered a flicker of a smile before depositing his burden on the table and gesturing to it.

"I brought them something… although I doubt you'll approve."

Yes that was a smug tone in his voice, Eva looked confused but a moment before opening the lid to the box he tapped with a finger and exclaiming. She shot him a wide-eyed look, disbelief and then disapproval.

Shit.

Her hands were on her hips and Rivaille took a step back, eyes narrowing and scanning for any potential weapon. She always seemed to snag one form fucking nowhere when she decided he needed a good hit or five. Cheh, crazy old bat. However, no hits were coming and the old woman just smiled at him, shaking her head before puttering off to the back door and calling outside for the children to come in because _Mister Levi _is here. Rivaille sighed, rubbed at his temples and swept long fringe form his face.

He only just got in a scowl at the old bat and braced himself for impact before all the little bodies came charging in.

"MISTER LEVI! MISTER LEVI…"

They shrieked and pawed and he already felt his patience ending at the swipes of dirt and filth they smeared into his clothing. Their faces shown, pink with exertion and sun and happiness, despite the bleak situation they were in. Rivaille grimaced, attempted to smile for them, but fell short and compromised with patted their heads and refusing to tell any stories because he was the "great Levi" and blah blah blah… ah, they would learn one day that he was infamous, but not great. Likely they would learn sooner rather than later.

He humored them, he even remained for dinner and refused to allow them to share the pastries with him. He wasn't sure he could stomach one without being sick. However, he had to depart them early – for one he felt disgusting, the dirt still clinging to his clothing, and he had work that would be completed that night. So he made his goodbyes and slipped into the evening.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

Showered and donning fresh clothes, Rivaille slipped onto the estate. Worming his way inside was hideously easy, a time when being small paid off. Most idiots didn't look at what was out of their line of sight, add that it being dark and the arrogance and it they did half his job for them.

The statue was easy to find, easy to recognize. It was white, ridiculously white for something as old as this must be. It was of a man, nude save for a plumed helmet on his head, shin-guards and sandals and a cloak that draped from his shoulders and over the bend of one arm. A spear was clasped in his other hand. He was… pretty, Rivaille surmised. His features very defined, but elegant, the body muscled but… somehow it looked soft.

The damned thing was unnerving. He thought he should be able to reach out and feel heat and skin rather than cold fucking marble. It wasn't very large, but the fucker was heavy and Rivaille thought he might collapse before making it back to safety.

Escape was a success, but it was also a very close call. It required running – not an easy fucking feat when one has a forty or more pound statue strapped to their back. It meant fighting wasn't an option so escape it must be. At least he wore covering over his head, nothing elaborate, just enough to obscure his face from those far too observant in such situations.

At least the coin offered was going to make this fucking trip worth it, because Rivaille was quite certain he wasn't moving from bed tomorrow. He wasn't sure his back would be able to handle that, not with the tension and ache he could already feel forming.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

Two weeks since his altercation with Erwin, and three days since the statue theft. The man who paid him to lift it was most impressed, and excited enough Rivaille was half afraid he would blow one in his pants right in front of him. Still though, nothing held his attention for long. Jobs came and went, his own affairs were handled and every moment there wasn't a task to be handle, Erwin fucking Smith was right in the middle of his thoughts.

His dreams were beginning to disturb him somewhat as well. It was truly unnerving, for someone to worm their way beneath his skin as this fucking man had done. Dreaming of hot skin and sweating bodies, panting breaths and rough, wandering hands that restrained and demanded rather than caressed and begged. Rivaille shivered, tugged his coat tighter about himself as though fighting a chill and turned down an alley, cigarette worried distractedly between chapped lips.

He had too much to process in regards to the blonde, had allowed himself to be too easily distracted by him. He knew it would catch up to him, Rivaille just didn't quite imagine it to be quite so… dramatic.

His steps halted, eyes refocusing on the large group of men – men he knew were in the Military Police or just common thugs, a glance over his shoulder showed the same thing. Muscles immediately bunched, tensed in preparation for escape… but there really was none, not here, in this fucking barren alley in the slums where screams would not be answered even if they were heard. He sighed, eyes closing briefly, flicking open for sharp gaze to snap to the man who seemed to be the leader. Two fingers plucked the burning stoge from his mouth, a plume of smoke following its wake.

"I didn't know the Military Police teamed with thugs to target civilians, how interesting." His bored drawl seemed to incite them, one sneered, the man he already picked out, and stepped forward.

"Ah, don't worry – we don't bother the civvies but you – you're just trash. Stealing things that don't belong to you, should know better than that you little shit."

His face was hideous in the twist of victory he knew was in his hands. Rivaille felt his spine straighten, he found nothing tying Francis to the MP, which meant it was under the table – yet it also didn't make sense how they pin pointed him. Rivaille arched a brow, head tilting, hands crossing at his chest. He was strong, he had a gun – but it was only good for one shot – but he couldn't take on the twenty or more men in such close quarters. He had no room to move, no advantage to take. There were just too damned many of them.

Teeth clenched tightly together, this was fucked. It was a fucking stupid, amateur way to die. Still, he slid into a fighting stance, face relaxing into apathy – body lose. It was an action that seemed to throw the fucker in front of him off balance, but he recovered quickly. After all, what odds were twenty to one?

"I'm not sure exactly what you're talking about, but I'm not about to bow down to you shits."

It was a sigh, resigned to the confrontation. Even if it was a pointless cause, Rivaille couldn't help the spike of violent lust that tore through him. To smash in every face, destroy and tear apart every last one of these bastards who turned blind eyes to everything until it encroached on another fat piece of trash filling their pockets. The man growled, fists clenching before he lunged at Rivaille – the go ahead for the rest to join in too.

It could hardly be called a fight – the thugs were the first to go down, at least eight of them and more than one likely fatally injured. He was taking no risks, knives were held in both hands and punches not pulled. When the knife was lost, a fist had to suffice and eleven of them littered the ground in various states of damage. Rivaille was tiring, ducking and dodging – but still so many of the hits connected that it hardly mattered. They came from all directions, in various forms of strength and he was tiring. It took so much to take on so many, but he refused to just curl up and accept death. He didn't fear it, but pride held strong, an inferno that drove him forward – he survived the streets – fourteen years on the streets and he wasn't about to let some fucking pussies with an ego complex ruin it.

The knife buried itself in the twelfth when something hard, heavy and undoubtedly metal smashed into his back. Rivaille grunted, arms jerking and grip lost on the knife as he was thrown forward. Fuck but his body hurt, already bruised, already pushing reasonable limits and he barely had the capacity to life his arms and brace himself from smashing face first into the ground.

"Not so fucking tough now are ya? Fucking piece of shit."

A boot buried itself in his abdomen, another smashed down on his shoulder. Again and again, it seemed like they came from everywhere, but Rivaille bit his tongue, refused to call out even as they panted and gasped from the exertion and their gang-attack.

Darkness was encroaching on his vision when one of them shouted and the impact abruptly stopped, Rivaille blinked, trying to bring the scene into focus – but all he could make out were hazy shapes. Outlines of the fucking MP still lingering, but now somewhat trembling, in the alleyway. He blinked again, attempting to clear his sight when a brown jacket so similar to the MP cleared long enough to discern the outline of wings, by the third blink the man was crouching in front of him. Shaking his shoulder and saying something, he couldn't hear over the ringing in his head, couldn't speak from biting back pain and exhaustion, so he blinked again dazedly – watched those blue eyes flare with something dark and foreboding that might've brought a shiver had the circumstances been different.

The fifth blink and the darkness didn't part, swallowed him down and away from injury and the background buzz of how much fucking filth was on his skin and clothes – that he was lying in.

* * *

**Notes: **

Hurk I hate splitting events into multiple chapters but this one was getting hella fucking long – so it's being split.

I keep writing the little intro excerpts before the actual content of the chapters – so I have the opening of chapters five and six already done… just gotta write them –rubs hands- but this is quite engrossing and fun, and exploding with plot bunnies the more I muse on it – so they will likely turn out rather quickly.

Writing and not sleeping also helps with that I suppose.

Written to

Carla Bruni - _Quelqu'un m'a dit_

Coralie Clément – _Bientôt_

Noir Désir - _Le Vent Nous Portera_


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_Most children hold one or the other parent as an idol, or even a member of the Recon Corps. I didn't particularly hold any of them in regard, except my mother. But it was… different than having a hero. _

_She gave me a hero too, though. _

_Through stories, she provided me with a hero to admire. They were passed down from her mother and grandmother and on back, she said they were from before the Walls were built. As a child, it was hard to imagine such a time when walls did not limit the world – it was hard to imagine a world beyond them at all. _

_They began when I told her about the others taunting me for being so much smaller than them – there were rather a few irate parents at our door demanding she do something about her "out of control" son. She had apologize and it irked me she had to do that. I would have, but perhaps she thought it best I not have the chance to shoot my mouth off to them and make the situation worse. _

_I hated being small, I don't particularly care one way or another anymore. Size does not guarantee strength, after all… but before that lesson truly sunk in, she gave me her stories. _

_She told me about a man who was small, she said that even though others were taller he was still powerful. She said he rose from near nothing to lead an army, that he was a genius and eventually ruled a kingdom. She told me of how he ventured out with his army to conquer neighboring kingdoms. I didn't particularly understand what she meant, she said it would be like Sina marching on Rose and so on – except farther away and under different kings with their own armies. _

_I think I understand her better now, but perhaps even she wasn't entirely clear or able to imagine such a thing. _

_This man, she said, traveled even to far deserts – and into the snow covered north. He conquered many people, she said, and was very respected – and very feared by his enemies. _

_I wonder if he was real, that man, or if he was just a fairy-tale passed down or made up entirely to make me feel better about being fucking short. _

_I don't think I care though, because they are one of the only things I have left of her and sometimes I still think about those stories, about the unbelievable things he managed to do. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

Darkness.

It stretched and rolled, seemingly endless and blissfully silent. It wasn't hot or cold or warm, there wasn't pain or awareness or anger.

It was blissful in its nothingness – but even that bliss was fleeting – there and gone like a Will-o-the-Wisp.

It was almost a shock when he finally realized the darkness was receeding, the farther away it slipping the harder the grabbed for it and the faster if left him. In its wake, feeling bloomed – pain, excruciating and annoying, coming from too many places to focus on just one or even blot it out. It was akin to drowning, fighting a riptide for sanctuary on shore – and he was losing, much to his chagrin.

"Hey…"

Who the hell was talking to him? He didn't want to talk. He wanted to return to non-feeling, to silence. Whoever the bastard was would get a fist in their face, if only he felt he could move that much. Exhaustion, he realized, was what weighted his body like lead. The closer he drew to consciousness the heavier that feeling became.

"I know you're conscious, I can see your eyes moving."

Fucking bastard. Of course he was regrettably conscious, but he didn't want to be and even opening his eyes felt like a pointless struggle. The exasperated sigh might have caused some satisfaction, had he given enough of a shit. There was the sound of retreating footsteps and Rivaille allowed himself to relax just slightly, cataloguing what hurt and what didn't. His back was the worst, he knew – and was likely lucky the fucker couldn't hit hard enough to damage his spine.

That would have been absolute shit.

Erwin was returning, of course he knew who it was, the voice registered now, after some thought. He didn't move as he felt hands touch his arm, lift it gingerly for some form of ointment to be applied to what he guessed was a wound. Teeth clamped tightly together to restrain the hiss of pain. There was definitely no returning to peace now and reluctantly he opened his eyes, grateful that the lighting was muted. Everything was blurry, but he could make out the ceiling and a glance to his left brought the top of a blonde head into focus. His throat felt terribly dry and it took several swallows before he could speak.

"Just a regular white knight aren't you?"

Blue eyes jerked up, heavy brows furrowed over them but the expression slowly cleared as he took in the lucidity returning to charcoal eyes. Erwin offered a bare twitch of a smirk and sighed, leaning back and allowing his arm to rest against what Rivaille assumed was a bed.

"Not at all. I've been watching you since your little stunt." His expression darkened and Rivaille tensed, ignoring the burn it sent through muscles. "I must admit you are involved in quite the questionable occupation… you're just lucky I was there…"

He shook his head and Rivaille rolled his eyes, a sneer in his voice as he spoke – still hoarse, a bare whisper.

"The weak die in my world."

"They do as well in mine, but that is no excuse to stand by and watch a mob take down one man."

There was a brief hesitation and Rivaille had to give Erwin a nod in acquiescence – the man had a point. Fighting Titans was a stupidly ridiculous occupation – to survive and fight again and again and again was insane. Not so different from the life he already led, but he wasn't entirely impressed with the pause.

"You are strong… talented… you could do so much more with your abilities."

Rivaille snorted inelegantly, fixing the Scout with a deadpan expression.

"You really should work on your recruiting rep. If that's the best you've got it's no fucking wonder everyone wants to join the Police or Garrison."

Erwin sighed, scowling and shook his head.

"The Recon Corps isn't for people who can't handle the reality of a situation. If I sugar coated I may be filled with recruits, but they would all be sent to their death quickly. It would be cruel, and would cost us more than it would gain."

Yet again he had a very good point and Rivaille was irritated with fucking Erwin Smith and his fucking 'good points'. On top of it, his head was throbbing so there wasn't sight nor sound of some scathing snipe to throw back – so he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, completely at this bastard's mercy.

"For a soldier of humanity, your morals are awful questionable. Following a criminal, playing accomplice to his crimes by not turning him in. Tut, tut Erwin Smith."

The statement was exhausted, but Rivaille was truly curious about why. Perhaps the fool just had some weird fascination with the underworld, or just dangerous situations. Yeah, that made sense – he did willingly charge Titans after all. Erwin sat back, looking thoughtful for a moment, head tilted as though scrutinizing a particularly difficult puzzle.

"I said the Recon Corps isn't for those who can't handle reality… if I turned you in – they would put you to death, or leave you to rot in a cell – and the same things would continue to happen. Perhaps more or less efficiently, but they wouldn't stop. Not with the Military Police accepting bribes to turn a blind eye to criminal activity."

He sighed then, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he had a particularly violent headache.

"You're much more… tolerable, at the moment. Although I suppose I should count my blessings you didn't wake up ready to attack."

Rivaille chuckled, dry and empty of inflection. He was too fucking exhausted to fight, he knew his limits and while this general peace wasn't going to last, it was okay for now.

"Whatever. I'm fucking sleepy."

Despite injuries, he rolled over, providing his back and an effective roadblock to conversation. He was asleep again, true sleep this time, before Erwin finally stood from his perch and left the room.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

It was hours later and still dark when he woke again, the pain had receded to a dull throb – annoying but tolerable… although still perhaps beyond the threshold of what some could endure. He lay there for a time, adjusting and allowing his body to wake and prepare for the utter hell walking was likely to be – before turning and sliding his legs off the edge of the bed.

The floor was cold beneath his feet but he hardly felt it.

The place was dark, and flashes of his altercation with Erwin flashed through his mind as he slipped – quiet as a shadow, though it cost him so much more than it normally would. It was slow going, a conscious thought to keep his breath regulated and note his surroundings as he slipped through the door and into the main portion of this… home. It didn't much feel like a home, it felt empty and cold, not that he cared – his own living space felt nearly the same. It was mostly unlived in after all.

After much trouble and many near misses, Rivaille located his boots, carried them as he tip-toed to the door.

"You really are in no condition to leave."

Every muscle froze, tensed to near breaking point as Rivaille slowly turned to face Erwin – who was lounged against the goddamn door frame that separate sitting room from kitchen. He looked at his leisure, but Rivaille noted the taunt pull of shoulders and preparedness of arms. Likely the man was ready to lunge and stop him at any moment. Nosy bastard that he was. Rivaille merely arched a brow, expression smooth. He could barely recall the civil conversation they held when he woke the first time, it was all a haze – just flashes popping back now that he was face-to-face with Erwin.

"There is no reason to stay. I'm well enough to make it to my own residence."

His voice was monotone, urged argument to be put aside in favor of agreement. Erwin's brows knit above his eyes, they slid to the side – only a moment before locking back onto him. He was moving, smooth and graceful as a predator and Rivaille felt another spike of that foreign arousal shoot through him. It was fucking annoying, it was taboo – he disdained people, gave little to no fucks about them at all and yet (even unknowing) Erwin Smith managed to pull _this _most disgusting of all urges from him. Erwin closed the gap quickly, looming over Rivaille – and even that only served to sharpen the burn in his stomach. He scowled at the man.

"Well enough… you almost died. You've been unconscious for two days…"

"Ugh… fuck I need a shower."

Erwin stared, incredulous as Rivaille looked down at himself in complete disgust – surprised he hadn't noticed earlier how filthy he felt. No wonder he was in such a shit mood, so out of it – he wasn't anywhere near the realm of clean. This was fucking unacceptable.

"You're worried about being… _clean _when you should be concerned about the wounds you sustained?!"

Definitely incredulous, but Rivaille hardly noticed him as he turned about and scowled at the dark room.

"What are you? Fucking nocturnal? Turn on a light, I need a goddamn shower."

Erwin moved again, lighting gas lamps that provided meager lighting – but enough for him to navigate without running into something. Rivaille set his boots down, already set off to search for the shower.

"It is on the right… put maybe you shouldn't… you're wounds could open."

"I don't give a fuck if they open. I refuse to stand here covered in filth a moment longer."

With that he was gone, walking without a limp from sheer force of will. Those fucking bastards with the Military Police were extremely unlucky he was very good at remembering faces. He planned to utterly destroy everything they had. They wouldn't just die, no, the thick streak of vindictiveness that laced his blood like poison demanded the most extreme punishment. They'd beat him as a mob, he'd fucking fallen on the filthy fucking street – and he hadn't had a conscious bath since earlier that day – _two fucking days ago _– maybe Erwin was enough of a saint to provide him with a sponge bath but even that was not enough for him. An itch was already building under his skin, demanding he scrub and scrub until every last germ was eradicated.

He closed the door behind himself with more force than necessary and immediately began the arduous task of pulling off the filthy clothes and folding them. They were set aside before the shower was turned on – and it took a moment before hot water began to spill from the faucet. It was better than what was available in the slums, for sure, they didn't even have hot water – much less water pressure. It was heavenly, despite the burn of steaming water sliding over healing wounds and Rivaille lavished in it – mindful of his damaged body as he scrubbed and scrubbed and rinsed and scrubbed and rinsed again.

By the time he stepped out of the water his skin shown a blushing pink and drying was a quick process – when he realized he had nothing to wear. Eyes closed slowly, some deity up above should surely show at least a smidge of mercy for his dignity. With a sigh he cracked the door, allowing steam to billow out as he poked his head around to find Erwin seated at a table with papers spread out in front of him, a map taking up the majority of the space.

He took a moment to stare, noting the focus applied to the task, the curve of shoulders and the sharp angle of his jaw. He was quite attractive – if his opinion even mattered given the disregard with which he looked at most members of his species. He shook himself, scowling.

"Erwin…"

The man looked up, seeming to come out of deep thought. He was already standing before Rivaille could ask, shifting the chair back beneath the table.

"Clothes right? I wondered when you would notice."

Smug bastard. Rivaille scowled and vanished back inside of the bathroom, closing the door more quietly this time – patience restored with his ascension to cleanliness.

It didn't take long for Erwin to return with clothes and Rivaille was quick to grab them and close the door again – oddly unwilling to bare any amount of skin to the man despite his usual lack of modesty. Not that he was a raging whore or something… but he had no reservations about his body, despite his short stature.

They were too big of course. The shirt had long sleeves he rolled to his elbows, it swallowed him, fell to mid-thigh and was coated in the smell of cleanliness and Erwin fucking Smith. He wouldn't admit it, but Rivaille couldn't contain the urge to bring the fabric to his nose and inhale. The man smelt _nice _– clean and woodsy… something fresh against the backdrop of filth that was the slums and, well, the capital as a whole to be honest. The pants were another matter. Despite tying them as tightly as he could – they still sagged low on his hips. At least if they fell, the shirt was long enough to cover him. Still, he felt like a child in adult's clothing.

With a sigh he stepped from the bathroom, folded, dirty clothes held gingerly in his hands. Erwin was still working but looked up as he stepped into the room – and yet again seemed to read his thoughts before they were voiced. It was unnerving.

"Down the hall, I need to wash everything later today so they should be clean by tonight… " He trailed off, but obviously wanted to say more.

Rivaille nodded and turned on his heel before Erwin could change his mind about the sentence and deposited the clothing with the rest. Another quick wash of his hands and he wandered back to the sitting room. He could leave now – but didn't much favor wandering the streets in clothes three sizes too big (at least). Instead he gingerly sat on one of the sofas, reclined after a moment – still eyeing Erwin as though he expected the man to assault him at any moment.

By the time an hour passed Rivaille was fucking bored and lounged on the uncomfortable furniture on his back. Eyes stared sightlessly at the ceiling.

"So I hear you're in line for the position of Commander."

There was a pause in the scratching of Erwin's pen, the scrape of a chair a moment later and Rivaille could see from his peripheral, the man sit down in the chair opposite him.

"So they say, nothing is set in stone." He sounded tired, likely was – Rivaille wasn't sure when, or if, he'd slept.

"You think they will choose someone else?"

Silence, thoughtful and unbroken before Erwin sat back, seeming to relax.

"It is always a possibility, politics considered… but logically, I would be the choice. The current Commander has already deemed it necessary to begin 'training' me."

Another pause as Rivaille turned that over. The statement wasn't ego or narcissism, it was stated as fact – nothing more or less. It was an appreciated bluntness… although he'd put money on the idea Erwin could be a manipulative motherfucker if he wanted. He seemed the type – too reserved, too controlled.

"I doubt even politics could justify promoting someone else. You seem popular – everyone knows your name if not your face."

Erwin shrugged, as though he didn't care – and perhaps he didn't. After all, he was regarded as a hero – not a monster. Amusing how similar, yet different, their situations were.

"The Recon Corps are regarded equal parts fools and heroes by the people… but they are so blind to so much… their opinion hardly matters. Though, it does carry some weight – if only they would realize that."

Rivaille snorted, closing his eyes and offering no further comment.

"What is your name?"

Erwin's question almost startled him – hn, thinking about it, he hadn't given his name had he?

"I would prefer your actual name as opposed to a fake one."

Now he smirked, lips curling and dropping back to apathy just as quickly. Fucking perceptive wasn't he? Rivaille was two seconds from tossing him some bullshit name, but the man saw – he saw a lot if he were being honest. It was almost… well, could be, terrifying how much Erwin Smith saw. Some even whispered the man was omniscient – Rivaille just chose to call it abnormally observant.

"Levi."

It was all he said and Erwin seemed to turn it over in his mind a moment. Very few had his real name, some in the underworld knew it – but they were as tight lipped as Rivaille himself. Movement caught his attention and he looked up to find Erwin standing over him, expression inscrutable and eyes locked onto his. It was hard to breathe under that look.

"Levi. Stay, at least until you're healed."

It was an _order _he realized, the tone, the firmness…

"Okay."

And he agreed without a fucking argument.

* * *

**Notes:**

Thank you everyone who reviewed and I'm glad you're enjoying the story… I was glancing back through chapter one and saw half a fucking million typos… so I'll be going back to correct those.

I also received a review of a name of one of the artists I wrote too in all caps… I'm not entirely sure what to think of that, other than be mildly concerned that it was the highlight of the writing to… that person… anyway ,

Written to

Dido – _Thank You _


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_Years later, when I was older – many, many after my mother died – I discovered who my father was. It was quite by accident, I figured the man to be dead. He wasn't. He was easy to pick out in the crowd, we had the same eyes, the same sharp chin and black hair. _

_It took less time to find out who he was. Some minor lord, prancing around dandy as a fucking flower in the King's court and sauntering through the streets with a ten foot stick up his ass and his nose curled at all those lesser creatures scurrying at his feet. He was a disgusting man. Arrogant and vain and I rued having the slightest feature in common with him. _

_It turned out he'd courted my mother for some fucking mistress, never telling her he was wed already. She was his 'fun on the side' or some such bullshit. He was very good with words; suave and smooth and manipulative. I wondered if I hadn't unknowingly inherited that from the fucker as well. _

_But it was doubtful. _

_I decided to meet him before ending him, for disrespecting the woman he cast aside when told she was with child. Though, he had sent petty sums of money to ensure she had the basics. HAH! A joke, some way to stroke his own ego by showing compassion or whatever. _

_I bumped shoulders and locked eyes with him in the market one day, smiled a smile I know was as grotesque as the black hatred I could feel thrumming through my veins. He never said anything to me, but I saw the recognition in his eyes – pale blue where mine were dark. He sneered down at me, tall as he was it made me question where my height came from… but then, mother was quite petit. A tiny, tiny woman with a spine of steel. _

_Shame she hadn't used that on the bastard… but she did truly love him, which made his actions all the more unforgivable. _

_His residence was easy to find. A posh chateau near the center of the city; all guards and stone gates and gardens cultivated by servants. I approached during the day, chatted with a guard as I noted the times. I told them my mother had been a mistress but recently passed away and gave me my father's name in hopes of being educated and offered some form of job. It was such bullshit, but I smiled through it, as much as it hurt. They asked my name and I left a fake one. _

_It was common sense really. I was known, not by face or appearance – but by _name _in the underworld. Only those who worked with and for me, or employed me, knew both. It was common sense to stay safe; why hand out something so well-known to the common masses to cringe in fear? I'd never be able to walk among them, some righteous justice seeker may hunt me down had they the chance to learn a name and face. _

_I returned later in the night, when they were all asleep. I made sure he was awake when I killed him. He threatened to call the guards, pissed himself when I laughed at him. I asked him if he knew how mother died and he paled – he did know. He knew the entire fucking time and I hated him all the more for it. I killed him with relish. Not clean and not quick. I made it slow. A cut for every year I'd lived without her, every year of her pain. _

_There was a lot to account for and by the time I was done the carpet was stained crimson and it splattered the walls, covered my clothing. _

_It was disgusting but I bore through it, whispered a gleeful good bye as the light faded from his eyes. _

_I've never felt guilt, remorse – or even dreamed of that night since. _

_It did leave me to wonder at the indifference, but perhaps it was too smothered by hate even tearing him apart hadn't rid me of. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

He remained at Erwin's residence only two days longer, and that two days was nearly too much – but oddly insightful. When, on the rare occasions, the man was actually there – Rivaille could feel his eyes following every movement he made. There was scrutiny in that gaze, and whether it was attempting to figure him out or figure out how to try and manipulate him – Rivaille wasn't sure. To be honest, he didn't particularly care, but he did play up the situation as best he could; allowing the over-large pants to slip lower than necessary, and when he had his own clothing back – slinking about with much more… enthusiasm than was ever given to mere walking.

If the burn of his ass where those eyes seemed to affix themselves was any indication, Rivaille was quite succeeding. Well, at least that physical appreciation was mutual. Not that it mattered so very much, given he had no plans to act on it. Not unless it could be used as leverage, at any rate.

Their conversations were perhaps the most infuriating. Rivaille could be a chatterbox, quite fucking literally just open his mouth and spew whatever garbage came out that was inconsequential. Erwin seemed stuck on talking of nothing but the Recon Corps – and he suspected the blonde was attempting to somehow subtly influence his favor.

'_Not very likely_.'

Yes, it all started with one conversation that completely altered Rivaille's perception of Erwin's reasoning for not turning him in.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

_They were lounging in the sitting room, a glass of liquor in their hands while fireworks exploded outside. It was in some celebration to do with the King – not that either entirely cared. The King was always looking for some way to celebrate himself. Must be the complex that came with supposed 'Ordainment of Station'. It was all bullshit and they both knew it, so the topic wasn't even broached. _

_But Rivaille couldn't deal with the looming silence, monotonous as it was. So he broke it, on a question that had plagued his thoughts for some time._

"_You speak of the Recon Corps often… but you don't seem the idealist, or someone with a hero complex. So what are your goals? Why stick with it?" _

_They didn't look at each other as Erwin swirled his glass and took a sip before answering._

"_My goals are inconsequential to the overall goal of the Recon Corps. The goal is to salvage more land for humanity to occupy, to grow – to hopefully become stronger. Our numbers decrease as rapidly as they grow…" _

_His blue eyes gazed out the window, far off in thought and consideration. Rivaille made no secret of studying his face, seeking out some tell or another. _

"_The Recon Corps is… strong. Stronger and better equipped to handle Titans than the other two divisions… but we aren't strong enough. We need more who go above and beyond – expectation and ability." _

_Rivaille remained silent, even when Erwin's gaze locked with his, abnormally intense. _

"_You're wasting your talent working as some thug in the underworld. You could do more, be more – than another body destined to die young and nameless in a shit filled ditch." _

_Rivaille looked away with a laugh, empty and bitter because Erwin truly knew nothing not matter how much he thought he saw. The underworld – a thug… perhaps it was a waste but it was his decision to be there. It was a path carved out by every day of struggle to make it to the point he was at now. He lived for no one, took orders only at his own whim and worked directly for no one. Sure he was hired to oversee this or that, steal this or that – but it was his choice to offer those skills._

_He would be no one's dog to be sent yipping and tail-wagging to his death. _

"_You don't know the first thing about what I do… you know what you see, but that is not always everything… besides, why the fuck would I want to run and die for a bunch of willfully ignorant shits who will mock every moment of it in the end?" _

_His eyes were hard flecks as he looked back at Erwin, brow arched in question as his acerbic tone lingered, tense on the air. Erwin sighed, broke eye contact as though unable to immediately form some revolutionary argument. _

"_Maybe you don't have to fight to save humanity… but what are you fighting for now? Survival? Doesn't that make you no better than the Military Police, or the people whom you curse so easily? You take and take – for yourself; eat and sleep and do jobs within the walls… the same as anyone else… but never pushing to exceed that expectation." _

_Rivaille jerked back as though slapped, brows high and tongue pressed harshly between his teeth to keep from cursing the bastard. Because he had a point… there was little, to no difference in what Rivaille did and what the others did. Well, he knew this already, if he were being honest. It was simply easier not to think about it… so he didn't. Having it pointed out to him started the turn of disgust in his stomach, annoyance – but he shoved it away, face impassive as Erwin looked back, eyes telling Rivaille he wanted to know his thoughts._

"_I'm no hero, I have no desire to be." _

_Erwin tilted his head, smiled the barest traces of a smile and almost laughed. _

"_You don't have to be. Dreaming of heroics is for fools…" _

_Rivaille gave a dry laugh in reply, head shaking back and forth as his gaze returned to the window. _

"_My answer is still no." _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

So here he was, nearly a month later still musing on Erwin's offer – on his allusion to there being more to Rivaille than working the underworld. He seemed to see some great, untapped potential in him that Rivaille scoffed at, almost laughed. However, now was not a time for laughter. He met the man on occasion, they exchanged few words and only then over the casual appearance of two men who didn't know each other taking drinks in one of the taverns.

Still, the underworld was ruled by paranoia and Rivaille had his own healthy dose of it. He learned to listen to his instincts, although temper them with rational judgment. Right now, his stomach was knotted in unease and muscles tensed and relaxed even as his pace continued the appearance of a sedate, casual stroll.

A meeting was called. Meetings were rarely ever held due to the very nature of the men in attendance and their businesses.

They were all, publicly, enemies – they all strove and fought in various ways to be the most powerful and their underlings continued the fight on a much more violent level. These men, they fought with words and cunning and covert action. They left the bloodshed to those less intelligent. There weren't many of them; six including Rivaille, but only one sat the seat of power and the rest lusted for it.

It made congregating dangerous, one never knew who brought poison or eavesdroppers, perhaps even an assassin or two lurking in the shadows with bow or dart ready to end one of their lives. It was a nerve wracking experience and there was no reason for this quite last minute affair to be called.

It could only be bad news, of this Rivaille was certain.

Rivaille was armed – almost literally – to the teeth when he slipped inside of the dilapidated building. Outside it looked like complete shit, but the interior was another story. It was almost lavish in its décor; richly dyed rugs, clean walls and paintings lined the walls. Most of the goods were stolen or bought from questionable dealers who made it a habit to get their slimy hands on the most exotic of goods and sell them off to the highest bidder in masked auctions.

There was no one to check upon the people entering, though the feeling of eyes on one's person was never ending. The place was heavily guarded, even without the checks. Only the elite were here – those controlling territory and businesses both legitimate and not so much so. It was expected for them to be armed and guarded, and only they and those they brought with them would even know where to go and when.

Unless of course there was a serious information leak.

Rivaille's attire was not out of place here, coat tails dusting the backs of his thighs and polished leather boots meeting soft black pants and overlapping his knees. His shirt was simple enough, starched to pristine white and neck covered by the careful knot of a cravat. He wore three guns on his person, lowering the necessity for reloading as often and knives could have been found in any number of locations on his person. He was quite adept at slipping them into even the most unexpected folds of clothing. A most interesting addition sat in a small container tucked into the cravat's knot, a little ball filled with an interesting mixture of powders that – when hurled at the ground with enough force would explode with a plume of smoke to cover an exit. The blades were sharpened to deadly precision and would have gleamed under the low, gas lighting. However, small weapons would not be enough if shit went down here, so he'd invested a hefty sum – and no small number of threats – in obtaining a rather fascinating blade.

Despite the Throne's attempts to do away with all evidence of knowledge before the walls, some still remained. Most especially the stories of the Asian countries and their finely honed abilities in folding steel. A person who owned one of these rare, renowned blades – was considered beyond lucky.

And how lucky for him he'd found a dealer with one tucked away. The man assure him it was legitimate – and Rivaille only believed him after testing the blade's capabilities on the worm's own flesh. It would need to be oiled regularly, and while it was smaller, easier hidden than a full length sword – it was nothing to laugh it. The steel cut through flesh like it was a perfectly ripened fruit, and would even do a number on bone if enough force was applied.

Of course, he hoped things wouldn't come to that, but peace was rarely ever long-standing in this world. Tonight would likely see some manner of bloodshed, if the hair raising tension in the room he stepped into was any indication.

It was a grand room, empty save for decoration and an overly large table meant to seat many more than the five currently there, ending their blasé pleasantries upon his arrival. Rivaille paused in the doorway, allowing his gaze to sweep the room before continuing as though nothing were amiss. An older man stood at the end of the table, raised his arms in greeting.

"Ah, good to see you Rivaille, we were beginning to wonder if you would come at all."

A brow arched, he arrived at the exact time he was informed to arrive. Almost precisely on the minute even. Still, he paused to dip his chin, voice steady and expression giving nothing away.

"Pardon my lateness in keeping you waiting."

"Good then, shall we begin?"

The man retook his seat as Rivaille pulled a chair out and sat down, one leg crossing the other and arms resting casually against the heavy wood of the chair. Gazes lingered only a moment longer, each locking in turn as though sizing the situation up in silence. They were calculating, but almost anticipatory. It meant trouble.

It began as these things tend to do, with a brief discussion of how things were running. And they were doing so as smoothly as was to be expected given the nature of these jobs. There was some bragging on new territory or new 'recruits' into their specific organizations, or even something so mundane as the acquisition of a particularly sought after artifact. Rivaille hardly joined in the bullshit stacking higher and higher. He had his own 'territory' of course, but it was much less blatant than theirs, he didn't own businesses but he worked jobs. A sort of go-between, playing every field in as malleable a manner as he could. It meant all five would turn to him for something at some point, and if times called for it – he could make an ally out of any of them. Not that he ever planned on such a move, but the potential was there.

He was strong alone, and they knew this, he was an asset to their power and their ego demand they keep him near and on their side.

"Well, why don't we get down to the reason for this unprecedented gathering, shall we?"

The 'leader' spoke up, the man holding the most power for the moment. The others nodded in agreement. Ah, so it would seem there had been discussion over this topic without him. Interesting.

"It would seem that our position and sensitive information is being compromised." One spoke.

"Yes, a little rat has wormed their way into our ranks… and it is suspected to be someone on the inside." Another followed.

On the inside. In the know, a person entrusted with a heavy degree of information very carefully kept from common knowledge. Ah, shit. It would seem something finally overstepped their ego – self-preservation. It would also seem, Rivaille surmised, he was this 'inside rat' they spoke of. He didn't react, beyond arching an inquisitive brow.

"Oh? It would seem this is not the first time the topic is being discussed… I wonder, what led you to think such a thing." His tone was pleasant enough, but still flat – without inflection. It was expected of him.

They leapt on the cue like rabid dogs.

"There is a soldier snooping where he doesn't belong… a particular blonde man we all know is affiliated with the Recon Corps."

Their eyes were sharp, hungry as they fixed on him and his fingers twitched to grab the honed blade hidden on his back.

"A soldier… they hardly have the pull to threaten your position." He offered.

"Ah, but this particular soldier is in line for the position of Commander…" Two of them made eye contact, shared vile smiles between each other.

"Indeed… it is quite the curious situation when one of our own is seen to be in frequent, almost regular contact with this man. It is curious that he has been seen near operation sites – and it is quite the compromise to our security."

The old fucker was ever magnanimous, speaking as though he were a god granting diffusion to the insignificant squabbles of his subjects. Rivaille fixed him with a flat, unimpressed look and the man chuckled, expression hardening.

"We cannot have compromise, Rivaille, as you well know. I world works on secrets, it is the foundation that protects us and allows us to operate so smoothly."

"Truly? I was under the impression it was the gold filling the Military Police's pockets." He deadpanned.

They bristled and one leaned forward, hands fisted and gaze particularly ravenous.

"We know you must be selling information you disloyal little rat. Play the fool all you want, we all have informants that have seen you – repeatedly – speaking with this man. Word travels fast you know, we even heard he rescued your sorry ass in a bit of a… shall we say, vulnerable position." The grin the man gave him was vile but Rivaille sat, remained for all intents and purposes, relaxed.

"Indeed, it makes us question what you're being paid… or what you're offering to remain undisturbed while this man slinks about our domain freely."

The implication was disgusting and Rivaille allowed the sentiment to wrinkle his face, curl his lips in a sneer.

"You assume he is being given information at all." No sense playing dumb now.

"We do not assume when we know he has _seen_which is enough for all of us to be hanged for."

Tension was at an all-time high and Rivaille could feel the intense scrutiny. His chin dropped, gaze dark and hard as he peered at them through his over-long fringe. His voice practically dripped in mockery and venom as he spoke.

"So what do you plan to do about it?"

"Why, nothing more than demand you answer for your crimes. You are a…. somewhat intelligent man… you certainly realize you are outnumbered here – and there is no place for you to hide should you flee."

Ah, flee or turn himself in? Those were the two options they expected. Rivaille rose, slowly, aware there must be a target on him, however unseen.

"How silly of you. To think your influence and sphere of control is enough to make me flee. Do not take me for a coward."

Their grins were triumphant, but they were short lived the moment he lunged forward, blade hissing as he ripped it from its sheath and drug it through the neck and spine of the man nearest him in one clean sweep. The bullets came next, although the expressions of horror would linger with a sweet tang in his mind for years to come. He grinned, broad, baring teeth and flashing eyes that contorted his face into a visage more suited to a demon – before he went for the next.

They began to flee, but it hardly mattered. He was young, he was strong and he was quick, precise. They were fools too accustomed to their word games and cushioned safety. Another fell, a bullet grazed him but Rivaille paid the sheep no mind when the shepherds were darting for any exit.

He grasped the gun in his free hand as the doors slammed shut, his own people at work sealing them all inside. Ducked behind a statue, he was provided some cover – enough to aim and fire. The bullets were pathetic, but enough to direly wound when planted in say, the back of a knee. He moved again, rushing across the room and gritting teeth as a wildly aimed shot found it's mark in his thigh. Fuckers. There were too many to emerge unscathed, but a quick stab and twist through the back was all it took to end the third's life.

Two more. Two more and he was free to go, though where he would go when hell broke loose in all-out war over the seats of power – was questionable.

Rivaille was splattered in blood by the time he killed the fourth and cornered the old bastard. He somehow managed to slip out of the room, which was impressive – but ultimately pointless. He was calm, dark eyes locked with Rivaille's unwavering gaze, as he aimed the gun in his hand. He arched a brow at the old man's antics. At least he wasn't trembling and pleading for his life – that would have been disgrace beyond what his limits of disgust could endure.

"Do you think you can kill me with the one shot you'll have?"

His voice was velvet, sweet and mocking in its assuredness. The man faltered, but his gaze sharpened and he sneered.

"I only need to wound you badly enough to have you bleed out." He was firm, certain. Rivaille chuckled and charged.

The bullet landed, and it burned, seared through him with incredible pain as it lodge itself somewhere in his torso. The pain blossomed out with a renewed flow of blood – but it didn't deter him, and Rivaille drank in the sight of the bastard's face turning paraffin as the blade met his skull, and drug down – every ounce of his weight thrown behind the leaping swipe he had to take.

It didn't go all the way through, of course not, it wasn't meant for such use – and the blade was lodged firmly in the center of the bastard's forehead as he dropped to his knees and collapsed into a heap. His body twitched, tongue lolled and eyes rolled back in his head as the final death throes hit him with a vengeance accompanied with the putrid stench of bowels emptying.

Death was never graceful, never dignified or pretty. It was disgusting and pathetic.

Rivaille made good his escape, hurling the small smoke-bomb against the hardwood floor as he dashed through the corridors. It confused the stampede behind him, only marginally slowed by the small group of men he'd brought along. One hand clutched at his side, attempted to stave the profuse bleeding as he burst out into the night, and with more desperation than grace, fled the bowels of the slums.

After tonight, no one there would be truly safe. Order would now be anarchy with the fall of their leaders – and when it was discovered just who delivered the fatal blows – his name would be on every list of those seeking to claim those positions.

The best plan of action he had was to locate Erwin, and potentially a doctor. Amusing, if not frustrating that his path seemed forever locked with that of Erwin fucking Smith.

* * *

**Notes:**

Jess (anonymous review reply): I thank you for all the great ego stroking you're giving me. I will definitely lean toward displaying the trust between the two of them – I mean, there would have to be something for Rivaille to just go with Erwin's plans and shit without much of a question (I.M.O.) and I quite dislike painting Erwin as a beast – sacrifices he may make but if considered it rather does work well for the situation. And don't worry at all, Rivaille will most definitely not take a backseat to events – it works well for now, but passive aggression is definitely not something I want to write into his character. And.. I'm sure Erwin feels something for little-man so far as the lust thing goes, but I'm writing from an almost exclusive Rivaille point of view… so maybe I could toss in some Erwin moments so that his standpoint isn't so enigmatic… even though I do quite enjoy leaving him some big-fat mystery to be guessed it…

Other Reviewers: Thank you so much for reviewing. It is nice to know people are enjoying the fic and hopefully it continues to meet expectations.

Written to;

Dir en Grey - _Conceived Sorrow _

Dir en Grey - _The Pledge _

Dir en Grey – _Ryojoku no Ame _


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_There are very few people whom I truly feel I owe anything to. Requiring the aid of others to live is not something I allowed myself to fall into the habit of. Allowing yourself to be saved, to be indebted to a person allows them power of your – and I hated feeling at the mercy of another human. _

_But it didn't change the fact that I was doubly indebted to a particular doctor. _

_They later called him a hero for all he'd done, and his name was widely known throughout the walls. It really is amazing how quickly things can spread amongst people. Just another testament to how filthy they are. _

_I was fourteen when the plague hit. It ravaged the population like nothing before it save for Titans. _

_The slums was hit the hardest, and amusingly enough, they weren't nearly so expansive until after the Plague hit. _

_The doctor who 'saved' so many said it came from rats and their fleas. Carried in their bloodstream and only made worse by the utterly disgusting living conditions of the people. _

_Sewage tossed into the streets, animal shit and garbage left to rot and fester. It attracted the rats, and they fed and reproduced… and infested the cities with their fleas. It was disgusting. People walking around with fingers rotting and dropping from their body, leaking tumors covering their body, black rashes or boils on their skin and burning temperatures… no one knew what it was at first… until they started to die. They didn't know how it was spread and the isolation began. _

_The slums were the first to be locked down. But still it spread, like a black cloud promising death to any who found themselves prodding a tumor in the armpit one morning. _

_The burnings began after that. They thought the fire would purge the sickness – and nearly the entire slums district was leveled in the attempt. Entire families eradicated. _

_And people mock me for my cleanliness. When it was their disgusting habits that brought the plague to begin with… but even I didn't escape it… _

_I hardly remember the time, only that he was still there when I woke – he explained I'd taken fever… collapsed and being the white knight that he was (condescending bastard) he saved me… for the most part. Although he was amazed that I recovered, yet it seemed that some – indeed – did survive the disease._

_I owed him my life even though the boils that broke across my skin left scarring on my shoulders and sides. _

_Grisha Jäger… he is not a man I shall forget anytime soon. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

_Fire rose in great, licking fingers – so high it looked to be attempting to touch the sky. Voluminous plumes of rank, black smoke billowed higher. There were so many now, coating the city in a smog of smoke and ash. It was disgusting. The smell was disgusting, and he felt disdain for the very fire curling tight in his chest, black fingers of hatred that tainted any appreciation that could be had. _

"_The fire is purifying. The disease won't be able to spread if the bodies are burnt… and we don't have the room to bury everyone." _

_It was a sad fact of life, but that didn't mean he was going to agree with the man beside him._

"_I hate fire. It serves little purpose beyond destruction." _

_The man smiled, touching the wide brim of his hat and bowing his head._

"_Fire cooks our food and warms our homes, lights our way in the darkness. It is not all bad. It makes our lives much easier." _

_He released a bitter laugh._

"_They would be easier if someone looked beyond fire for another solution…"_

"_Ay, but such things are difficult to find and even more difficult to harness and make work." _

_He shrugged to the man, lips curling in distaste as he sat against the wooden chair, body still pained and exhausted. Recovery was terribly slow. _

"_Humanity is lazy, they are content with fire – with burning – so it doesn't change." _

_The man sighed, eyes fixed to the orange-yellow sky of late evening._

"_So very cynical. I don't think I've met someone as young as you with such jaded opinions… but we must have faith in humanity. One day, things will change – one day, we will move forward."_

_He snorted at the statement, disbelieving._

"_One day is too far… dreams won't make it happen."_

"_So are you going to change the world?" Curiosity laced the tone and he wanted to laugh._

"_No." _

_The man's brows furrowed and he looked away again, a frown touching his lips. _

"_Why do you say that?" _

"_Because I have no reason to change the world for everyone else."_

_The man hummed, but spoke no more. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

He swam through darkness again, slowly breaking the suffocating shores into consciousness.

This seemed to be happening far too frequently since Erwin Smith stepped into his life. Perhaps the man was some form of bad omen. Rivaille could believe it with the number of serious injuries he'd sustained in the last month. It was tiresome, to be honest and would only become more-so with the fall of the underworld's Alphas.

At least it was silent this time, as he came to awareness, acutely aware of the throbbing pain in his side, he also realized that he was not in Erwin's home. In fact, he couldn't remember even locating the blonde. Nor could he recall how far he traveled before blacking out. This place, it smelt different – sounded different. Voices from outside drifted through an open window, the smells of cooking and distant babbling chatter alerted him to other occupants in wherever this was.

He might have tensed, if his body didn't feel like putty from the damage taken when he was last conscious. Likely running while bleeding out did nothing to help his situation either.

His eyes opened slowly, fluttering and squinting against the bright sunlight streaming in through the window. The noises continued, the streets outside busy and Rivaille guessed it was around noon. Hell of a time to wake up, he surmised and shifted with a soft grunt. Pain immediately struck, although it was dull compared to what he expected. It was more of a combination of stiff muscles and healing wounds than the aggravation of new wounds.

'_How fucking long was I out?'_

It wasn't a pleased thought, and he sighed, rubbing the caked, dried moisture from his eyes before taking the time to carefully stretch. It wasn't the most thorough from this position, but it felt absolutely wonderful. Muscles loosened, the ache faded somewhat – enough to allow him to sit up and tune into the distant noises of the house. He was upstairs, obviously, else the sounds would be louder, more distinguishable. The room itself was small, off-white, plastered walls and hardwood flooring and furniture. Several gas lamps and candles sat about the space, a small bookshelf was laden with texts – most of them on medicine.

'_So, I managed to find a doctor after all… curious. I wonder who they are.'_

Doctors were a rare thing, especially doctors highly skilled enough to remove a bullet from their patient's guts without killing them. Likely he'd heard of the man (or woman, he admitted) before and would recognize them when he saw them. With that thought in mind, Rivaille allowed himself to relax – but only marginally, after all, one could never be too careful.

He stood slowly, gingerly placing weight on his quaking legs; they trembled traitorously, but adjusted quickly enough all things considered. It was while scowling that he took in his attire – a pair of khaki trousers that ended just below his knee and a very loose white button down shirt. They were likely borrowed things, although where such small pants came from when the shirt was so large was questionable.

'_They better not be some damned woman's clothes…'_

The thought was acid, but faded quickly enough as he wandered barefoot to the door, surprised by the cleanliness of the place. Well, whoever owned this house was a doctor – and sanitation was one of the most important components to healing. Opening the door allowed the noises to make sense, if one could call the loud babbling and cooing of what sounded to be a toddler understandable. Curiosity piqued, Rivaille grasped the banister and made a slow, careful, wincing descent into the main part of the house. Smells of cooking assaulted his senses strongly, sending his stomach into a grumbling, aching tumble. He ignored it, observing the small room.

It was small as well, though not cluttered. A small kitchen setup lined one wall, a table with chairs sat in the middle of the room, a chest for firewood against a far wall. The other side sported a tiny sitting area with a few more bookshelves. He deduced there would likely be more medical texts, perhaps a few more common books – but the space was otherwise sparse.

A small boy was sitting at the table, Rivaille noted the paper in front of him with haphazard doodles of figures in cloaks with what could be interpreted as wings drawn on them and giant figures falling from their blades. So the kid idolized the Recon Corps did he? Rivaille almost snorted in amusement, maybe Erwin should take his recruitment speech here. Flicking eyes up, he was met with a pair of large blue-green eyes that stared at him curiously, but markedly without fear considering he was a complete stranger to this kid. He said nothing as he ambled, although more limped, through the kitchen and poured a generous cup of the steaming coffee sitting there. One sip and his eyes fluttered as he took a seat across from the brat, still staring with those wide eyes and messy hair that almost made him look deranged.

"Who're you?"

Ugh, his voice was high and squeaky, like any child's, and it was anything but pleasant to Rivaille's ears. He took another sip and sat back, body immediately relaxing from the strain of standing.

"A patient… I'm guessing your dad is a doctor."

The kid nodded and grinned, chest puffing out in pride.

"Yep an' he let me help take care of you."

Pride shown through the kid's tone but Rivaille didn't have time to make a snarky comment. A sharp inhalation drew his attention instead, and he turned to see a woman standing with a basket of linen tucked under one arm. Her eyes were hard and wary, posture tense – a mother ready to defend her offspring. Rivaille didn't move, just watched and slowly inclined his head in greeting. She relaxed marginally, but still watched him as she crossed the room and set the basket down. She wore a simple dress and had long, long black hair that was bound at her shoulders. She had the look of a headstrong woman, likely one capable of taking on a grown man larger and in better health than himself, if it came to the defense of her children.

A rush of nostalgia assaulted him but Rivaille pushed it away and finished his coffee.

"Good morning… is the doctor here?"

She was still tense, perhaps more so given the flat drawl of his voice addressing her, but she turned and continued about her businesses as though unbothered.

"He is in town, though he should be returning soon. Eren, why don't you go outside and play."

The boy sulked, clearly more interested in their guest than playing outside. His face was pulled into a half-scowl, half-pout that Rivaille smirked slightly at. Ah, this Eren would be terror when he was older, of that he as certain. Still, the boy sighed and slid from his chair, pausing only momentarily at the door as he pulled on his shoes.

"Will you be here later?"

Rivaille shrugged, he truly had no idea. Preferably he would not be, but he needed to find out how extensive his injuries were and how much payment would be for the doctor patching him up.

"Perhaps."

The boy nodded and grinned, face lighting up like a candle before he turned and rushed from the house with an offhanded 'bye mom'. Rivaille turned his attention to the woman, who was facing him now with a stern, warning expression. Her arched a brow at her battle-ready posture.

"I always tell him not to bring work home. It's not safe for Eren to be around the type of _people _my husband feels the need to help."

Rivaille could practically feel the dripping disdain in her voice and sighed.

"Yes, well, I am not going to bother your son or yourself."

She sniffed and turned to begin scrubbing dishes leftover from the meal.

"We understand each other then. I know where he found you, and I most definitely do not approve of bringing people like you home… but so long as you don't threaten my son, I suppose I can put up with your presence."

Rivaille wanted to laugh, yes this woman had a temper, but he couldn't exactly blame her. Most any mother would be territorial of a stranger brought in from the streets with lacerations and bullet holes. Especially if they had a young child home with them while the husband was away. He made no comment but hummed in agreement and stood with some effort to pour another cup of coffee. He felt half starve but wasn't so rude as to demand food from someone already opening their home to a stranger.

Rivaille found no small amount of irony in considering manners now, after the amount of murders and thefts he partook in – led – through a person's home.

The silence that followed him retaking his seat was broken when a plate appeared in front of him, covered with a crème towel. He blinked slowly, looking up at the woman who huffed and turned away.

"I'm sure you're hungry. Eat."

A demand that brought nostalgia to the surface once more, Rivaille swallowed it and plucked the towel off of the plate to reveal a warm piece of bread, a small cut of meat and a few steamed vegetables. A simple but hardy enough lunch – and the smell practically had him salivating.

"Thank you."

She seemed surprised, but only nodded to him in response as he began to eat. It was a meticulous process of cutting things into smaller and smaller bites and ensuring nothing touched anything else. If meals were made mixed he had no problem, but eating seasoned beef drenched in juices from vegetables , seasoned separately – was disgusting. The woman watched him in seeming fascination before shaking her head and moving on, likely not wanting to know the answer.

Rivaille's eating was interrupted by a man walking through the door and recognition immediately struck him. He wore all black, an ensemble very similar to what the zealot Wall Priests donned and a wide brimmed hat. His hair was light brown, nearly the same shade as Eren's and long. When he looked up he smiled, and his eyes twinkled and Rivaille felt a surge of bitterness to the bastard as he placed his fork down and sat back.

"Grisha J_ä_ger…" _I should've known._

The man continued to smile as he removed his hat and placed a satchel on a small table near the door. He took a seat at the end of the table without extending his hand and seemed to study Rivaille for a length of time.

"It has been a long time hasn't it. Imagine my surprise when I found you bloody and nearly dead in the capital."

Rivaille blinked slowly, lips pressed into a thin line. Why did it have to be this man - _again? _Didn't he already owe him enough? Well, at least he could pay this instance monetarily. The silence stretched, both men studying each other. It was amazing how youthful Grisha looked after all this time. He had a son now, he was aging – he was considered a hero – and yet he still lived a modest (if the house was to be considered) life.

"Where are we now and how long have I been out?"

Grisha chuckled and shook his head, accepting a cup of coffee from his wife with a nod of his head. She smiled warmly to him before nodding to Rivaille and leaving the room.

"You've been out for a month and you're currently in Shiganshina." He held up a hand to stall any expletives.

"You were in the capital when I found you, and with a bit of first aid and a good deal of rushing, I managed to bring you here before you died. I must say, you're quite durable. However, I was not equipped to perform any surgeries where I was, so this was the best – likely the safest – place to bring you… word travels fast you know."

Rivaille snorted inelegantly at that, still musing on how long he was unconscious. It would explain a great deal, frustrating as it was. He sighed after a time and massaged one temple with fingertips.

"What word is it that has traveled so quickly?"

"They say the underworld's kings have been taken out… they say they were all murdered in a night. Imagine my surprise when I found you the very night it was rumored their deaths took place."

He didn't sound surprised, but Rivaille didn't expect him to. Grisha wasn't a fool, well, in many ways he was – but intellectually he was not. Rivaille's gaze focused on a nonexistent point past the doctor, fingers tracing a line across his jaw as he thought. Grisha sipped at his coffee, seeming unbothered, but at length he set it down and leaned forward, elbows on the table and fingers laced. His stare was penetrating, serious.

"What do you plan to do now?"

Rivaille focused his hooded gaze on the man, pondering a moment longer before he sighed, let out a bitter chuckle and submitted himself to the reality as it stood. Despite what some may argue, he was not a man to rush blindly to his death. Not at all.

"Do you know if a man named Erwin Smith is nearby?"

Grisha's brows arched sharply, as though surprised Rivaille would ask for _him _of all people. Rivaille smiled without humor, head tilting as he awaited the answer.

"Indeed, I believe they shall be nearby in a fortnight."

Well then, all he had to do was wait.

"Perhaps I could intrude on your hospitality until then?"

Grisha inclined his head before sitting back, gaze speculative.

"Indeed, I would insist up on it to be honest. You are in no condition to travel."

"Well then, why don't we discuss how much this little venture is going to cost me in the meantime."

The doctor chuckled and shook his head, but didn't argue as he located paper and pen to write out a make-shift receipt for the care – and Rivaille insisted he include board in the price, because he hated debts and he owed the man enough as it was.

A fortnight, and he would meet with Erwin fucking Smith – running out of options and evasions truly was a pain in the ass.

* * *

**Notes:**

Yes, Rivaille had the plague – yes he survived it – no it didn't always kill everyone. As can be discovered from Thucydides when Athens was struck by plague. It really is lame that schools only feel it pertinent to teach the bubonic plague that struck Europe… especially considering how long they spend on Greek literature in English classes. It's fucking ridiculous they don't even TOUCH Thucydides – the man was a fucking amazing philosopher.

Also no… I don't give two motherfucking shits what twitter says I'm not spelling a German surname as Yaeger… not doing it… idgaf.

Here's a quote: _"Yet it was with those who had recovered from the disease that the sick and the dying found most compassion. These knew what it was from experience, and had now no fear for themselves; for the same man was never attacked twice- never at least fatally."_

Thucydides – "_On Justice, Power and Human Nature: The Essence of Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian War" _

Written to;

Mickael Miro – _Ma Scandaleuse _

Mackael Miro – _L'horloge Tourne _


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_When I was young and stupid, as many people are at a certain age – I drank with many colleagues. I drank regularly and I drank to the point of being shitfaced._

_It started as most things do, with the liquor and then with a dare. We were young, we were criminals – we talked of the markings that donned the skin of so many – the things they told of. Of course, it was mostly conjecture… but we wanted a mark._

_I was the one, in the end, to mark my skin. _

_It was painful and time consuming. The man was old, looked far too old to be doing what he did, but he was surprisingly astute at his art. With a hammer-like device and something that looked like an overly sharp comb (but far more narrow), he tap-tap-tapped the ink into my skin. _

_They say if you cover your body, it can change you. I think it's bullshit – but it will definitely teach you about self-inflicted pain. _

_There was blood, so much of it, likely worse because of the liquor. People tend to bleed more when drunk, though I've no idea why that is. _

_I woke the next morning in my floor, shirtless and hung over. I'd forgotten about the fucking tattoo until I looked in the mirror to find out where the pain was coming from. There I found it, on my shoulder was a small web with a black widow crawling upward. It isn't really big, time has faded it… but it disgusted me. _

_My skin was marked enough – is marked enough. I didn't need yet another. I never took another tattoo. _

_No, I vowed to myself I wouldn't wear a fucking mark again. Scars were one thing, but placing someone else's… symbol, mark – whatever you wish to think of it as – on my skin was degrading. _

_Funny how many vows I've broken in a lifetime. Even if the one I took later wasn't so… permanent a fixture on my skin as the spider._

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

The days with spent in Shiganshina were… interesting. Rivaille found himself constantly shadowed by Grisha's son. The brat had a complex, Rivaille was certain and Eren was only too happy to blab and blab endlessly about how he was going to join the Recon Corps and kill Titans and explore beyond the wall.

He was one of those fools Rivaille spoke of with Erwin – the kind who dreamed of being heroes.

He never disillusioned Eren to the hard reality that he was more likely to die than live long enough to truly explore beyond the wall. The statistics weren't in his favor. He never spoke of his former occupation, never gave the kid his name. What the hell would he need that for anyway? So far as Eren should be concerned, Rivaille was nothing more or less than a disadvantaged patient of his father.

Did he mention the brat had one hell of a temper problem? Seriously, how could a four year old manage to pick a fight?! It wasn't much of one, granted, more rolling and flailing and grabbing than true fighting – but there was more than one occasion he found himself dragging a hissing and spitting Eren home by the back of his shirt. It was tedious and it was problematic and he was ready to be gone of this place and its stupidly close-knit family unit… thing, he was forced to be exposed to.

Still, Rivaille never stopped musing – thinking and replaying. The more he did so, the more the events that led to this point made sense and the more frustrated he became. The more necessary was this encounter with Erwin.

At long last the time of waiting came to a close, and healed as much as he could be, Rivaille set out with the doctor. They took two horses toward the inner wall – to a castle that harbored the Recon Corps on occasion. It was just outside of Wall Rose and would take a good half-day of travel to reach on horseback. He was tired of waiting, but anxious of how this would proceed. He wasn't excited to be going to Erwin, quite the opposite in fact, Rivaille was irritated. He'd basically cornered himself into this by not killing the nosy bastard when he showed at the docks that late night.

' _Tch, so much for heartless_.'

Were he the monster they portrayed him, he would've ended the man then and there – wiped his hands of the situation and kept his position and way of life.

Not that it was a life to be proud of, but Rivaille was not a fan of uncertainty and as of now, the future was extremely uncertain.

"You seem quite willing to venture here, despite it being so far from your home."

Rivaille commented offhandedly as he trotted his horse next to Grisha's. They were near enough now to slow the staggering pace a bit. The doctor chuckled at his statement, adjusted his hat – it was an irritating gesture, as though the fool were playing coy.

"Ah, I was requested to see to a patient in the Recon Corps. Seems the Commander has come down with something quite serious. Not surprising, they tend to accumulate all kinds of injuries and illnesses."

Rivaille scoffed, well of course they did – venturing beyond the walls, fighting Titans at every opportunity. They were a lot of psychos in Rivaille's opinion. Well, fools would be more accurate; dreamers that stretched beyond their means and spread themselves far too thin in some vague goal of restoring the greatness of humanity… or whatever.

"You will be staying for some time?"

Grisha nodded in answer to the question, the gesture coincidentally pointing Rivaille's vision to the castle they approached.

"Yes, for several days at least, so if things do not go well, you may return with me if you'd like."

Rivaille almost laughed, instead he settled for shaking his head and clicking his tongue harshly. As if. If this turned sour he would go his own way, as he always had. He hated relying on others, after all. It often came back to bite the person too eager to let people support them.

Silence descended again as they approached the castle, slowed when the patrol circling met with them. One of the soldiers raised a hand in greeting, addressing Grisha with a familiarity that spoke of many, many trips to the Recon headquarters. Rivaille tuned them out and ignored their curious glances, they greeted him as well but all he offered was a nod.

"My friend here needs to speak with Erwin Smith, he has made it in hasn't he?"

The soldiers looked perplexed and Rivaille keyed back into the conversation, charcoal eyes locking on them as though expecting an immediate rebuttal. At length, however, they nodded – though hesitantly.

"We're not sure if he'll see anyone but we'll tell him you've arrived with a guest. He may be more willing…"

Why the fuck did they need to know all of that? Rivaille grimaced at the unnecessary information. So long as it was done, even if it ended in failure, all that mattered was the acknowledgement that it would be done. He bit his tongue, however, and followed to the stables, dismounting and handing over the reins to yet another soldier. There was a scoffing sound and Rivaille turned to find the two soldiers looking him up and down with incredulity.

'_Assholes_.' But that was fine, let them underestimate him because of his size. It would just make things far less tedious for him.

"This way." One gestured and led the way into the castle.

The castle looked like shit and it was filthy. Weeds were sprouting outside, the windows caked with grime – but it was nothing to the interior. Dust sat atop every surface, carpets that may have once been lavish in their design – were faded and muted from dirt and wear. Windows needed to be scrubbed, metal polished, wood recovered… it was a disaster and Rivaille followed Grisha in a haze of horror and repressed twitches. How could people stand to be here? He felt vile and in need of a shower just fucking walking through the damned place.

Was that a fucking rat?!

A shiver fell down his spine and Rivaille picked up his pace, face twisted into a sneer of repulsion.

"The Recon Corps do not live here, this is a temporary base – a breaking point before they continue on. It hasn't been used for its true purpose in years."

Rivaille clicked his tongue at Grisha's statement and was tempted to cross his arms to suffocate the urge to clean.

"It's still disgusting."

The soldier glanced back, as though offended but Rivaille paid him no mind as a heavy wooden door was knocked on. He was much more interested in tending to business and removing himself from this place… or sanitizing it, as soon as possible.

Voices on the other side of the door hushed at the knock, and a familiar one beckoned them inside.

Ah, it was clean here. Rivaille sighed imperceptibly while his eyes swept the room's occupants. Erwin was seated at his desk, a stack of paperwork in front of him and another blonde man who was obscenely tall standing to his right, peering out of a window. All eyes turned to Rivaille as Grisha stepped through the door and off to the side with a brief smile.

"Erwin, Mike."

He greeted with a nod to each man, that was returned though eyes never left the unexpected spectacle that followed him through the door. The soft click of wood enclosed them and Rivaille ignored Mike's curious, scrutinizing gaze as he locked eyes with Erwin.

"Levi?"

Erwin sounded surprised, his brows rose and Rivaille suppressed the desire to sneer at the bastard. Acting shocked he came was he? He felt irritated, an itching beneath his skin that was waiting for an outlet – counting the seconds. Despite that, a sense of pleasure undermined it at the obvious reaction, from a man who rarely seemed to react to anything.

"Erwin… maybe we could speak alone."

The blonde tensed but nodded and waved off Mike's concern before he could voice it.

"Indeed, we can, Grisha I thank you for coming – Mike we will continue our conversation later."

The authority in Erwin's voice brooked no argument and the two men left. Already it was easy to see this man as a Commander, rather surprising he was a mere Squad Leader and nothing more. Yes, Rivaille was certain he was being groomed for the higher rank – even if the fool wanted to play uncertain. He flicked the lock of the door and stepped forward, shoulders rolling and lids dropping as he approached Erwin.

"How curious for you to act so surprised to see me, Erwin." His voice was velvet, dangerous – and he distinctly saw the man's muscles tense.

'_Good. Let the fucker feel unbalanced.'_

"It seemed from our last conversation you were quite adamant in your lack of interest for joining the Recon Co-"

"Stop with the bullshit."

Rivaille hissed, stalking forward, the desk barely seemed ample barrier to separate them as their eyes locked. Erwin seemed surprised, blue eyes wide and brows arched high, he'd pushed his chair away from the desk – easy to rise and retaliate should it come to that.

"You never turned me in, never showed the slightest inclination of dissuading me from my lifestyle – except to use it in argument to recruit me for your next loyal little dog…_Erwin_"

He purred the man's name and delighted when the man lurched as though struck by lightning at the sound of it. HE grinned, leaned across the desk. It was a visual power struggle, one of posturing rather than violence. Rivaille wasn't stupid – if he attacked Erwin here, he would likely find innumerable blades at his throat and back – likely they'd bust down the door.

"What are you implying, Levi-"

The crunch of wood cut him off as Rivaille's leg connected with the desk, lifted it up and sent it toppling. His leg throbbed, it would bruise, but the pain was nothing to the vindictive pleasure he took from the look of awe and wonder and horror on Erwin's face. So even he had underestimated him? Hadn't expected such a show of strength – of violence… or perhaps it was the display of emotion where they'd kept themselves so carefully restrained.

"I told you to stop the bullshit."

He stalked closer, far enough away to evade a lunge but close enough to loom. His gaze was glacial, flat and sharp as he bore down on the soldier before him who seemed lost for breath and words.

"I wonder, if you calculated how long it would be before your snooping was noticed… but perhaps you let it be noticed… it would work so nicely after all. Snooping isn't taken well in my world-"

He slunk to one side, pacing like a cat stalking prey when the banging on the door started. It was brisk and alarmed.

"Captain! CAPTAIN! Unlock the door dammit!"

"It's fine!"

Erwin barked, voice a rasp for control as he sat forward, eyes never leaving Rivaille's stalking form as he pranced about the blonde with a grin on his face that would've curdled blood. This was terrible fun, perhaps he did have a bone deep streak of vindictiveness – ah but that was unimportant. The banging slowed, then stopped when peace continued, the soldiers – however briefly – content with the declaration. Good thing he had superb control of himself or that might've been the blonde's face he aimed for instead of the desk – granted it would've been beyond his reach given the distance.

"So _Erwin_ did you count on your presence and our interactions rousing suspicion? Surely you've heard the rumors… I wonder if you understand their implications now…"

He stopped, trailed off, voice lilting in amusement as those eyes darted away in thought before snapping back to him.

"I had no way of knowing you were so deeply involved in such activities."

Rivaille laughed, pale neck arching back at the statement.

"Certainly you do now… and I've been left with little options. People will want blood, vengeance – they will want prestige. My head is as good as offered on a silver platter so far as they are concerned – and wherever does that leave me to go besides right into your cage?"

He spat the word, disgust rolling freely from his tongue and face contorting in disdain. But his point was made, he'd drug delicious reactions from the bastard – and the wounded part of his pride that still sulked over being pinned that night felt soothed somewhat.

"Why come to me – why not enlist through the Trainee Corps? It would be easy for you, you could pick and choose where you went… why come here?"

Rivaille chuckled, reclined against the wall with arms crossed, though his muscles still tingled and ached for more release – but the throbbing in his leg was grounding. He'd have Grisha look at that later, for now, it would be a reminder not to get lost in the anger that came so easily. Too easily when there was a target who could take it… well, he hope Erwin could take it. Rivaille would be mildly disappointed if he couldn't.

"Honestly, Erwin, what could possibly loosen your wits so? Could you legitimately imagine me wasting two fucking years around a bunch of brats with starry eyes, gushing about their dreams of heroics or desire for some cushy, corrupt job? Not fucking likely."

His tone was mocking and Erwin bristled, but he swallowed down the temperamental retort on his tongue and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted, likely was – shame Rivaille didn't give a shit.

"What do you want, then, Levi? I can't very well bring you in without training?"

Perfect! He sat forward, and flicking the air as though casting dust away in a flippant gesture while he sauntered with an exaggerated sway that yet again drew those blue eyes.

"How much free time do you have?"

Erwin jerked and looked up, eyes widening marginally before narrowing with the furrow of his brow.

"You want me to train you personally…"

His head tilted, and his tone was considering. Rivaille smirked, lids low and waiting. The answer was obvious in his silence. Erwin mused for a length of time, fingers massaging his temple. When he sighed, Rivaille knew he'd won.

"It will be tricky, I shall have to consult the Commander on this… but I am certain it can be done… I just need to know – are you serious about this? I won't take you in if you're only half-assed in your dedication."

Rivaille hummed thoughtfully, drumming fingers on the upturned desk he was propped against.

"I don't fancy dying, Erwin. Continuing as before is as good as a death sentence. As much as it displeases me, this is the only option left available…"

Their eyes locked, as though sealing the deal in some unspoken vow.

"So long as I'm able, you have whatever strength I can offer this ridiculous parade of fools."

He wouldn't vow his life to this, that was too much. The black ink on his shoulder seemed to burn and writhe even as he signed away yet another vow of 'never again'. Circumstances change, and Rivaille supposed he would have to change with them – frustrating as it was.

"Collect anything you feel necessary and move it here within two days… we'll start on the third."

"Thank you."

The venom was gone, the anger gone (for now) and Rivaille unlatched the door, nearly spilling the looming soldiers into the room. He arched a brow at them as they took in the room and stared at him with shock and confusion. He said nothing as he stepped over the degrading pile and strolled down the hall.

* * *

**Notes:**

I've been watching Korean drama all day…. I really need to stop. It makes me want to shit angst all over this fic… and I plan to put it in – of fucking course what's a fanfiction without fuckin' angst?! But blehhh now isn't the time : anyway… hope you enjoyed, read n review pls ;) they stroke my ego something fierce.

You guys also almost lost two chapters… I was ten seconds away from erasing this thing halfway through and deleting chapter 7… -sigh- must refrain…

The black widow tattoo does have relevance to legitimate criminal activity - because I love slipping in real information even if it doesn't technically apply to the universe/era.

Amnesia (guest reviewer): Thanks for the review & glad you're enjoying. I write these as I go, most are multiple chapters in a night because I have hella sleeping issues – so when I can't sleep I write… and sometimes I write when I _should _be sleeping.

All reviewers: Thank you for continuing to read, glad you're enjoying it and hope it continues to please.

Written to;

Dir en Grey – _Yokan _

Elodie Frégé - _La Fille De L'Après Midi_


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_When I was a child, I would sometimes dream that I had wings. I could never see them, but I could feel them... feel the wind through the feathers and see the spots of people and houses below. I dreamt I flew up and over the walls, away from the looming, towering sight of flat stone that caged us like cattle. _

_It was liberating. I'd never felt so free. _

_I haven't had those dreams since my mother died… I'd honestly, for years, forgotten about them. Forgotten what it felt like to fly and be free. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

Two days to move in was a good bit of time indeed, especially when he had so very little to actually move. In fact, it was limited to a few changes of clothing, toiletries and a boot polishing kit. Rivaille had learned long ago to hold little value in material things – they came and went, could be destroyed… and anything that might have held sentimental value enough for him to desire to keep was lost long, long ago in the fire that stole away his mother.

So it stood the room he now inhabited was sparse, empty – and Erwin seemed mildly taken aback when he knocked and opened the door. He didn't ask questions, though… not that Rivaille would've answered even if he had.

Tomorrow. Training would begin – and so would this new life under the boot of the fucking Throne.

He took dinner alone, secluded from the other soldiers in the mess hall and refused to speak with or interact with anyone. Although, a few nosy fuckers tried. They sat beside him with big smiles and eager voices. They all wanted the real story, not whatever bullshit the Command – whose eyes he could feel on him – and Erwin, came up with. After several flat, cold stares they took the hint and left him alone. It might've even been pleasant, if he couldn't hear snatches of their annoying ass conversation and feel the glances they stole at him.

So small, he looked young. Why was he there and not in the Trainee Corps? Who was he? Where had he come from?

A few even speculated he was related to Erwin somehow (although where the fuck they got that idea given how very, very different their features were was anyone's guess). Rivaille didn't much give a shit, tomorrow he would start training and he'd fucking clean this shit hole. Really he should have done that today, but he'd been more than a little consumed with adequately sterilizing the space he was expected to sleep in – and re-washing the uniform he was given. Although, it seemed to take them a fair amount of digging and rummaging to find anything small enough. In the end, they settled for trousers that were close enough and Rivaille turned down their other offers in favor of wearing one of his own shirts. He had plenty, they were cleaner and actually fit.

He left meals early, stalked the filthy halls of this castle and mapped it all out in his mind – even found a few ingeniously hidden short cuts he would most definitely put to use. Despite how busy the day, how sharp the change – Rivaille wasn't tired in the least when night fell. He contented himself to reclining on the some-what hard bed and prickly down pillow as he considered this new future.

It would be an interesting experience, he surmised and closed his eyes, seeking sleep.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

Wakeup call came early, stupid, ridiculously early – but Rivaille was nowhere to be found in his room and Erwin began to panic. Where the hell was he? They were going out on a limb to even take the criminal in – they couldn't afford for things to be stolen and complaints to be made. He closed the door, jaw tensed and teeth grinding as he strode down the corridor. Soldiers were rousing, wandering down to the mess hall with bleary eyes or chatting quietly, a much less boisterous crowd than stormed the place for lunch.

Up and down the hallways and corridors, opening random rooms and closing them again – asking soldiers if they'd seen the tiny man. None had and Erwin was growing more and more irritated the longer he was forced to look for the punk.

When he came upon a crowd gathered near one corridor a scowl was affixed to his face, but none of them paid him any mind and Erwin found confusion growing where anger lingered before. What was going on? He just opened his mouth to ask when one of the gathered spoke.

"What the hell is he doing?"

Confused, Erwin nudged his way through the crowd and froze about halfway through, blinking. What was he doing indeed. There, in the small room was the very person he'd been looking for, with a rag tied about his face and hair – a dust mop in hand and buckets of soap sitting strategically around the floor. What on earth? He ventured to step into the room.

"Hey! Find another way assholes I just swept those floors and I'm sure your filthy fucking boots haven't seen a decent cleaning since you bought them."

The voice was commanding, but hardly raised and the cold look they were fixed with had some stepping back unconsciously. None dared enter the room, even if it was the shortest way to the mess hall from here.

"Levi… what are you doing?"

The man paused in scrubbing one of the windows and glare with eyes alone at the Commander – as though the answer should be obvious. It was obvious he was cleaning, what Erwin couldn't understand was _why_.

"I'm cleaning this filthy place. I can't believe you people actually stay here – absolutely disgusting… guess I'm not surprised though."

Silence rang about the room, glances were exchanged – some amused, some incredulous and others fearful of the tiny terror that'd been unleashed on them. At length, all attention was focused on Erwin who sighed heavily. At least he wasn't stealing them blind. He wasn't sure what to make of this little quirk though, there was a vehemence in every scrub of the glass – as though the dirt upon it had personally offended Rivaille and he found himself chuckling despite it.

"Levi, go eat breakfast – this is unnec-"

"Yes, yes let's all live in filth like rats – pretend we don't see the dirt caking on the windows and can't smell the rank mold growing beneath the rugs, or the fungus behind the toilets. All well and good – no fucking wonder your men drop dead and get sick so often you're on first name basis with Grisha."

Speechless, save for the collective inhalation of breath behind him. Erwin wanted to groan, to grab Rivaille and drag him from the room, but imagined he'd have quite the fight on his hands if he tried. It was too early for this, far, far too early. He hadn't even had his coffee yet.

"At least eat first and then finish."

"I'll eat when I'm done… breakfast is two hours correct? If you leave and don't walk through with your filthy boots I'll be done in forty five minutes."

Erwin was doubtful but sighed and ushered the soldiers away – who seemed flabbergasted insubordination hadn't been met with some form of punishment… but then, to them, the cleaning was punishment enough. Whispers erupted as they made their way to the mess hall and Rivaille went about his cleaning in blessed peace.

Fifty minutes later, Erwin was sitting smug at his table, chatting amiably with Mike and the Commander – when the doors to the mess hall opened and Rivaille strode in. He almost spat choked on the bite of porridge at the immaculate state of dress the small man showed up in. Fifty minutes counting showering and dressing… Rivaille took a seat at the far end of the room, offering no explanations to the stares, sneers and whispers that followed. He ate quickly, efficiently in small, precise bites that spoke of some neurotic twitch when coupled with the cleaning Erwin witnessed and the ever spotless state of dress. Yes, if he thought about it, even when he met him in the slums he'd been clean, clothes spotless and smell of musk so often accompanying those of lesser means.

This was going to be a profound headache, he imagined, and the Commander laughed jovially as he clapped him on the shoulder in a mockery of sympathy.

Breakfast ended and Rivaille stood, leaving the room to await Erwin. They didn't have the optimal location for training as the Trainee Corps did, but they could make do. With a nod the blonde led him to a supply room – where assigned gear was taken down; the harness, the grapple and gas carriers and the blades. Curiosity lit Rivaille's eyes as he studied the twisted steel, though he'd seen them before it was always at a distance. They were strong, but nothing near what those folded blades of myth were, he imagined. He set the weapon down and watched as Erwin lifted the harness.

"It's extremely important you fit the harness correctly, or else it will slip and rub – chafe and blister the skin. It isn't at all pleasant. This also ensures you can travel at the necessary speeds of the Three-D Maneuver Gear without injury."

Rivaille nodded and accepted the harness, slipping out of his clothing before sliding it up his legs. It took a lot of adjustment for it to fit him, but it was a snug fit, in the end, pressed as closely as possible to skin with only the barrier of underwear and undershirt. He removed it, slipped back into clothing that'd been methodically folded and once again into the harness. At least this wouldn't be a daily ritual – it was tedious. Gaze flickered to Erwin as the man nodded, finished filling the gas canisters and gestured to the small 'engine' braced in the small of his back.

"This propels you, it is also the center of mechanical function for the gear and damage to it will ultimately endanger your ability to fight or flee without injury."

Again he nodded, again donning the piece of equipment.

"The blades, as you see, have a trigger mechanism – this controls the grapple, the larger trigger. The smaller trigger releases the blades to be replaced by spares."

Suited, Rivaille shifted his weight, adjusting to the addition of the gear. It was foreign, but not unbearable. With a nod, the two men left – exited the entire castle and headed for a nearby copse of trees. They were tall enough for practice but not so giant as those that outsized even some fifteen meter Titans. They were deemed acceptable and Erwin pondered a moment before nodding.

"We will stick to the basics for now, as I do not have the convenient prop that the Trainee Corpse do, you will not be able to adjust safely to using the gear… so aim for somewhere low."

With that he shot his own grapple and flew into one of the trees. Rivaille watched, captivated by the apparent weightlessness, by how Erwin held his body, by how gracefully he moved. A warm excitement bubbled in his stomach, though it didn't show on his face. Without ado, he picked a location – higher than Erwin would've advised but safe enough, Rivaille knew his body well – was confident he would be able to navigate the gear without dying.

The grapple shot out, stuck into the tree – Erwin shouted but he didn't hear – he was airborne.

His heart stopped, his breath hitched.

Wind beat against his face at the speed, whipped through his hair – and that bubbling excitement exploded free, bringing light into long dead grey eyes.

His blood sang, his body relaxed – dreams of a childhood almost forgotten came rushing back; of soaring over the walls and beyond the reach of reality.

He closed his eyes. He was flying, free – euphoric.

He swung neatly, gracefully – leaned into the pull of the cable and allowed it to take him where it would. With a shift, he sped up, launching another cable that landed higher – farther away, and sung down in an arch through the trees.

So fast, Erwin was still shouting but he hardly heard him. Didn't give a flying fuck as he shot yet another, higher and higher – but not too far. He circled back around, allowing gravity to pull and drag at him almost nauseatingly as he circled one tree, and slowed, slowed – he didn't want to stop – but he had too, because he could see Erwin's face.

Rivaille landed on the ground, boots skidding and plumes of dirt shooting into the air before his legs collapsed and he hit the ground with a gasp, eyes wide, amazed, forlorn without the caressing fingers of the wind. His gaze slid up to meet Erwin's, who stared at him in silence – not anger – he almost looked dumbfounded.

"You've never used the gear before?"

He sounded skeptical and Rivaille stared at him with a blank, distant gaze, eyes half lidded and lit with fire.

"It's like flying…" He whispered, completely disregarding the question.

Erwin looked taken aback, sure people enjoyed the 3DMG that could use it… but he'd never heard it directly – verbally – compared to flying. Rivaille broke him from his thoughts as he stood, gaze locked on the blonde's and seeming a touch breathless.

"Again."

A demand, not a question, but Erwin complied – more than amenable to watching his _protégé_ as the Commander chose to name him, soar through the trees again.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

Later that evening Erwin sat in a small lounge-like room set aside for the officers. Meetings were held here, and sometimes they gathered to relax in the company of other veterans. Privacy was a commodity here. Tonight, it was just he and Mike, they'd poured each other glasses of Vine and sat back to update each other on their squads and the training progress of new recruits. It was then Erwin was drawn back into the morning and his eyes grew glazed as he stared out of the window and sipped his glass. Mike gave him his silence for a time, before leaning forward, elbows braced on the table and gaze questioning.

"So how goes the training with your… student?"

Erwin sighed, still didn't look at his friend for a long time – when he did it came with a sigh that had Mike arching brows – assuming the absolute worst.

"That bad?"

"No… not bad at all… incredible even… I've never seen a trainee _fly _like that with the gear, Mike…"

Fingers drug through blonde hair and Erwin shook his head as though the world had lost all logic, Mike leaned closer.

"Flying? Using the gear is easy – compared to fighting with it."

He was skeptical of course, perhaps Erwin had a soft spot for this recruit – it would certainly explain why he'd worked a deal with the Commander to allow the kid to bypass the Trainee Corps altogether. It was an absurd, unprecedented affair and he wanted the details something terrible… but knew asking would get him nowhere. Erwin was staring at him now, with that same inscrutable look he gave when Mike asked questions Erwin felt he should know the answers too somehow – and when he would refuse to give them.

"Join us tomorrow, while we're training."

"Fine."

Mike shrugged, smile and refilled their glasses. He suspected there was something more going on between the lines, but he didn't broach the topic, so long as it didn't interfere with their duty, it wasn't his concern. Didn't stop the twitch of curiosity though.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

"What's he doing here?"

Rivaille stood from his stretch as Mike approached and Erwin glanced over to the man before nodding and facing Rivaille again, continuing to stretch out his shoulders, arms and neck.

"He's here to monitor – for curiosity's sake. He might have some advice or ideas to help as well."

Erwin was fixed with a flat look that he returned, and the deadlock stood until Mike cleared his throat while holding back a chuckle. Both sets of eyes locked on him, unnerving, that. He didn't think he'd met many people who could match Erwin for stoicism… and even this was a different breed; an exasperated indifference rather than the veneer of self-restrain his friend possessed. He shook his head.

"About that demonstration?"

"We'll begin now."

Rivaille's eyes sparked, and Mike was forgotten about as the two launched into the trees. Quick and easy they landed and Mike followed, unimpressed by such a simple maneuver. Rivaille disregarded his presence, though he figured Erwin was full of shit for the reason the guy was here. It didn't matter, he was much more interested in testing the limits of this gear. He crouched slightly, knees bending and rolling to the balls of his feet. When Erwin gave the okay – they all launched.

The sense of freedom rushed back like a breath of fresh air, the wind welcoming him again and Rivaille threw himself to it with abandon. He recalled Erwin's demonstrations, cued in even now when the man shouted some bit of advice or another at him.

This was as natural as breathing – walking even… perhaps easier.

The weightlessness was addictive and Rivaille shot a grapple higher – Erwin shouted for him not to push it but he didn't listen. The bastard may be his superior but it would be a cold day in hell before he took orders like some obsequious dog. Up he went, whipping by the tree branches until he hit the apex, released the grapple.

Free. He could see the canopy above them, sunlight filtering through the various shades of emerald. He breathed deep, closed his eyes as he twisted his body and felt the free fall set in – heard the shouts from below.

Down he plummeted, faster and faster.

Eyes snapped open, lit with adrenaline as he fired the next grapple and swung – every ounce of momentum throwing him farther and faster than shooting and dragging his body through the air. He bypassed Erwin and Mike – the latter of whom watched with wide eyes that locked on Erwin and filled with questions. Rivaille didn't give a shit, he was moving even faster now, all that mattered were the dips and turns, the swings, aiming and grappling and flying through this fucking forest much like a bird.

If killing Titans meant experiencing _this_ he would be more than happy to face them again and again and again.

His lips pulled into a smile as he landed in a clearing, knees bending to absorb the shock and upper body curling forward just slightly. He didn't fall this time, but he staggered until he regained his balance. The smile was still there, so slight it could be easily missed. But there, with every accelerated thud of his heart and gasping breath.

He couldn't remember the last time he genuinely smiled, it felt foreign and awkward on his face.

Erwin landed and soon after, Mike. The blonde approached, face impassive but the tick in his jaw spoke of how unimpressed he was. Rivaille's smile dropped, reality crashing back in when grey locked with blue for another standoff.

"You shouldn't be so reckless. You could die with one wrong judgment."

Rivaille lifted a shoulder and dropped it, staring impassively. He didn't offer up any excuses or explanations – he wasn't afraid, Erwin realized as though dawning with comprehension. Most who were new to the gear were cautious, apprehensive – those who feared rarely overcame it to the ability to battle while using it. Rivaille didn't fear dying, didn't fear falling or misjudging a grapple… was that why he took to it so easily where others struggled? He sighed, shaking the thought as Rivaille began stretching before the return trip.

"Tomorrow, we'll practice hitting targets… then you will join the other trainees for morning and evening exercises."

Rivaille shot Erwin a look, unimpressed – almost hostile.

"I've no desire to train with them."

Mike snorted amusement and was ignored.

"You need to become accustomed to fighting alongside others. Here, we must be able to trust and rely on each other to do our part. They cannot trust you, nor you them, if you do not know or understand each other. It is a weakness we cannot and will not afford – it would cost lives. Could cost all our lives when we leave for an expedition."

Fuck the man could be long winded, Rivaille stared a moment longer, gaze cold but sighed and turned away.

"Fine."

Erwin nodded, internally smirking at another victory. He was beginning to be optimistic this wouldn't be as much of an uphill fight as he thought it was.

* * *

**Notes:**

Thank you all for reading and reviewing... I had quite a bit more faith in this finished product of this chapter as opposed to the last two x_x that transition was a fucking pain in the ass - like a dead point I didn't have as many (any really) ideas for as I do for the coming chapters.

A guest reviewer commented that my style was whimsical... and I know what whimsical means but I don't quite know what they meant in relation to the writing? XD I've never given much thought to what my style is or what anyone else has for a style if I enjoy reading it... o,o so I'm taking it as the compliment I hope it was ;p Hope you enjoyed and please continue to review 3 You'd be amazed how many things people have mentioned in a review that have given me ideas and even some things I hadn't considered.

Written to

Russian Red – _Cigarettes_

Chimène Badi - _Parlez-moi de lui_

Nujabes – Feather

Nujabes & 2Pac mix – _Happy Home _


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_The first time I drank Vine, I completely ignored even considering limits. I was young, a group I was running with lifted the shit from some rich bastard's cellar when we robbed him near blind. We decided to celebrate with it. _

_It was fun at first… and then it was fucking awful. _

_You lose inhibitions when you're trashed… and I was beyond trashed. I don't remember most of the night._

_I remember returning to the shit hole of a place I called home and puking over most of the floor, stumbling across the furniture. I broke a bunch of shit, not that it mattered – none of it was expensive or priceless… but it was a fucking pain. _

_Then it started… remembering shit I hadn't thought about in years._

_I could smell the fire, I could hear screams – shrieking, pleading screams and see the licking flames against a lead sky. People didn't run to help and all I could think about was standing there – watching the burning, hearing the screams… and doing nothing. _

_I cried, sobbing like nothing I remember before and screamed… screamed until I vomited again and the screams wouldn't stop. The shrieks for help, the accusations and questions._

_Why, why, why? Why didn't I come home sooner? Why didn't I do something? Why didn't I put out the fire? Why didn't I help? _

_Why was I so fucking useless?_

_I blacked out… woke the next morning next to the disgusting mess of the night before. I couldn't remember it at first… it was a blur of noise and sound and color and laughter and stupidity. It wasn't until later that it came back piece by piece –and I vowed never to be that drunk again. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

The training continued, just as Erwin promised and the next day targets were brought out. They wanted to test precision and lacking the necessary tools to construct Titan dummies, Rivaille was given alternative things to slice through – roughly the same size as the target area – but harder to see. It was intense, and the first several were a no go on impressing either Squad Leader, which rather put a damper on their hype of him being oh-so-special… until Rivaille figured out what was wrong.

Timing, it was all about timing, and that was a trial and error process. After adjusting, it was smooth sailing – and he fell into that as he did using the gear. It was more like watching a dance, a bird in flight flinging up and swooping down for a kill – pin point – precise – as anal-retentive as his cleaning habits.

It was beautiful to witness.

A prodigy, mike called him, after commenting on the intense smell of soap that clung to the younger man. Erwin had to bite back a laugh, recalling the scene he'd walked in on – the smallest member of the Recon Corps, cowing all of them until they vacated the area he was sterilizing. Hell, the could probably perform surgery in that room.

Rivaille left the training as though he were walking around on a high, an air of contentment lingering about him. The near irritated energy seeming sapped from him that'd lingered since his arrival at the headquarters. It was an almost miraculous change – from the buzz to… nothing; placid and serene all from the intense workout… or perhaps it was the nature of the training itself. The silence held, no questions asked as they returned to headquarters for the night.

Erwin motioned discreetly to Mike, led the way to the small room where yet another bottle of Vine was broken out, poured between two glasses. Mike lifted it, inhaled the liquid with a pleased sigh as it swirled around the container before vanishing past his lips. Erwin took a seat, gaze far away, focused on some point or thought the other blonde had no intention of trying to decipher.

"He is a prodigy… you realize… just imagine how strong he'll be a year from now."

Erwin hummed at Mike's observation. He hadn't expected such a performance when he'd pinpointed Rivaille… in truth, he'd seen that look – a rabid, feral look that feared nothing and knew how ugly the world was, understood and lived it every day. Not so very different from the way the Recon Corps lived – and they so terribly needed such people in their ranks – more than they needed hordes of starry-eyed children to send off to their death.

"He is more than I expected… but it all seems too easy."

There was frustration and Mike cast Erwin a curious look.

"Too easy? Where did you find this kind Erwin?"

Erwin sighed, rubbed at his brow as he drank the Vine – larger than the polite sips he normally took.

"It is unimportant… but I wasn't expecting him to be so docile…"

He shook his head, brows knitted in concern.

"You expected insubordination, arguments – fights for every little thing?"

At Erwin's nod Mike made a thoughtful noise, took another sip of his drink and reclined in the chair, allowing his gaze to shift to the far wall. Dusty. Obviously not a room their neurotic recruit had visited… yet. He imagined the whole castle would be spotless within the next month – and the rest terrified to trek in even a speck of dirt.

"I suppose we'll see how far that submission goes tomorrow."

They clinked glasses, down the contents and made a relaxed trail to the mess hall to fill cramping stomachs. The food wasn't superb, but it granted necessary nutrients – and it was much better than an empty stomach. Joining the Legion was, perhaps, a glimpse of salvation from starving due to the heavily rationed food provisions within the walls.

It was a bitter reality, stomach turning – but it was their reality and they had to live with it.

"OI! Watch where the hell you're walking! I just cleaned that!"

Both men froze, eyes wide – and upon looking down noted the small figure in slacks and a button down glaring up at them from between matching rags with narrowed eyes. That dark gaze flicked past them, to the trail of muddy prints they'd left on what was a glistening floor.

_'Shit._

Mike stepped back, long strides until he was at a safe distance to take another route, waving to Erwin who hung back with a slight frown.

"Are you not hungry or exhausted?"

Rivaille paused, looked at the blonde askance for the note of concern in his voice before shrugging and returning to viciously scrubbing the stone floor. Erwin wondered if the friction would wear the stone down.

"Not really – I already ate and this place is too filthy to be comfortable in."

Ah, well that made sense… he supposed, if you were a half-crazed neat freak who couldn't stand even one dirt stain on their clothes. Erwin shook his head, amused smile threatening the edges of his lips.

"Just remember drills start early tomorrow."

Rivaille flapped a hand at him, clad in a thick glove to protect from whatever germs he thought might linger after the intense cleaning. Erwin bid him good night and followed Mike down the other route – amused by the vicious grumbling that followed him.

Rivaille sighed, dumping the brush back into the bucket and sat back on his haunches to survey the damage done to his clean floor. With a grunt he stood, pushing aside the burning ache in his muscles to grab at the bucket to retrace his cleaning line. He cringed every time he stepped on the still moist, once-clean flooring but imagined he could do no more damage than the two pigs that just left did.

"_Porcs __stupide. __Pas si difficile __d'être propre__. __Essuyez __leurs bottes __baise__."_

Tongue made a click against the roof of his mouth, brushed dunked and tapped out – careful of runs and spills before it smacked wetly against stone. Both hands gripped at the wooden handled and drug it forcefully back and forth. People sometimes commented that his hands looked dainty – it was a terrible mistake, to take their small size as a measure of strength. His palms were littered in callouses, the backs dotted with pale, almost invisible scars – the knuckles knotted and large from the abuse of biting into the bodies of enemies.

Rivaille worked with a single minded purpose, drifting into an almost meditative state only cleaning could inspire as his thoughts wandered. The 3DMG was a specialty weapon, used only by those approved within the Legion… it was something he never would have been able to touch (unless he managed to steal a set) had he not joined the Recon Corps. After feeling that freedom, the weightlessness and exhilaration of soaring high, freefalling, diving at miniscule targets and feeling the satisfying friction of his blades dragging through make-shift 'flesh'… what would he have done without it? It was liberating, calming in a way nothing he did before really was.

It filled a gap he hadn't realized was there.

Thoughts circled and he worked; occasionally making trips to refill the bucket with steaming, soapy water before returning to his task. Still, his contemplation wasn't over. What would tomorrow bring? Would the drills be as freeing as Erwin's training? A basic 'go do it' and then he was on his own save for the drops of advice from the blonde or that weird guy – Mike. Yeah, the man was a fucking loon, Rivaille's nose wrinkled up as he rubbed at a window, recalling how the freak leaned in far too close and i_sniffed_/i his hair! It was a complete invasion of personal space – disturbing, not to mention a little disgusting considering how sweaty he was at the time.

Rivaille winced and stepped back from the window, eyes flicking to the starry sky beyond, to the full, pale moon rising higher in the sky. He sighed, he didn't want to stop cleaning… he still had so much left to cover and the itch was growing more vicious the longer he had to look at or think about it… but he needed his energy for the morning, and his muscles were cramping from the overworking.

He dropped the brush into the bucket with a soft splash and lifted both to clean and put them away. He would sleep for sure now – a gut feeling told him he'd need every ounce of the accumulated energy to even begin to deal with tomorrow.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

It was early when drills began, the sun barely cresting the edge of the horizon and painting the sky in pinks and oranges. It would've been serene were it not for the clamor of bodies exiting the mess hall for training, and the shouts of Squad Leaders outside demanding they hurry their asses. Rivaille wasn't overly bothered by the hour, he wasn't much of a sleeper anyway.

Today seemed to be especially hectic as a troupe of new recruits arrived just the evening before and they were all bleary eyed or starry eyed at the hour and the idea of being a member of the renowned Recon Corps. Rivaille scoffed at them silently as he fell into one of the lines, eyeing up the man in front of them. He didn't know his name and didn't particularly care to – the guy wasn't Mike and he wasn't Erwin and they were really the only two he deemed worth knowing… although Mike was a bit unnerving. Rivaille was certain the creep leaned over and sniffed his hair as he passed him inside. Everyone here was weird as hell, but… maybe that was what it took to face down Titan's in the world beyond the Walls so readily… and maybe some of them were just dreamers lucky enough not to have had to face them down yet.

A shriek next to him nearly had the man jumping out of his skin and he cast a cold gaze to the… woman… man? Whatever. They stood next to him with a huge fucking grin that looked more unstable than the drugged idiots in the Sina slums. They were leaning close to him, arms clasped behind their back and auburn hair falling in front of goggle styled glasses.

"Ooooh you're Captain Smith's student right? Ahhh! It must be so awesome being personally trained by one of the Squad Leaders! Especially him, I hear he's one of the best."

They nodded, still beaming and he had to wonder where the hell their enthusiasm came from.

"Who are you?"

They didn't miss a beat as they snapped a quick salute, eyes mischievous as they looked down at him. Fucking tall people, always had to gloat about it, didn't they?

"Hanji Zoë, new recruit. Ehh I don't suppose you've been through these drills yet?"

"Levi… and no. I've only been here three days."

Hanji blinked, smile faded and expression turning skeptical.

"You didn't go through the Trainee Corps – I definitely would've remembered someone with your expression…"

"The hell does _that _mean?"

Hanji ignored him, flapping their hand flippantly.

"Do you know how to use the gear?"

"Of course."

"Really?! It took all of us so long to really get it down, it's why training lasts so long… but three days? Really?"

They was staring again, this time wide-eyed and impressed and Rivaille drew back with a scoff.

"It isn't that hard."

Hanji opened their mouth to speak again but a gravely bark interrupted them, loud and obnoxious and nearly painful to hear. Their attention snapped to the front, where the Squad Leader stood, introducing himself though Rivaille paid him no mind.

"We'll begin with stretches, then basic workout and finish up with hand-to-hand before I release you into Captain Mike's care for work with your maneuver gear."

He was the type to be short of patience and Rivaille promptly followed the stretching demonstrations to properly warm up their muscles before they began the real work out. Supposedly it was important that you were loose and stretched before rigorous training to avoid damaging muscles or some shit. Rivaille wondered if they planned to do this bullshit before riding out into battle that could last indefinite amounts of time. Fucking pointless to adjust to this shit only to be required to be prepared at a moment's notice to leap into a fight without it.

Hanji was bouncing on their toes in excitement as the Captain called for them to ready to jog, he fell into pace near them, shouting this or that. They were burdened with packs they would be expected to carry into the field but it wasn't all that heavy. Rivaille held an average, sedate pace – unwilling to look a fool by collapsing like those in front attempting to show off. Hanji kept pace with him, smile never leaving their face and something like fanaticism burning in their eyes.

"I can't wait until we can go on a mission."

"So eager to die?" Rivaille didn't really care, but he asked nonetheless. Hanji giggled, their smile turning nasty.

"Nah, I won't die. I owe the Titans far too much for that."

Ah, one of those – driven by hatred and likely some form of revenge to destroy, destroy, destroy. Rivaille thought it ridiculous considering no matter how many humanity killed it hardly seemed to dent their numbers. Pointless to waste energy on such feelings. He didn't say anything, grunted and continued to jog.

"SHORTY! Show some enthusiasm, or is your pack too heavy?! You and Zoë are falling behind! Pick it up!"

Rivaille's brow twitched in irritation but he showed no other response to the asshole and picked up pace with a glance to Hanji. Their eyes were lit – in competition or amusement he couldn't discern but it didn't really matter. They slipped past the flagging runners easily, steps in time and gazes fixed ahead as they leveled midway through the group and held speed. Neither showed much sign of tiring soon and the Captain was satisfied enough with the mediocre display to shut the hell up and bother some other poor idiot.

They stood in the rows creating a block formation again when the running was over, a brief reprieve given for the soldiers to catch their breath and rehydrate. Whispers were going around, as he knew they would, after all the Captain snapped at him several time – apparently peeved to have a 'special case' in his drills. Whatever. The man was pacing, explaining some theory of hand-to-hand practice and keeping their skills up and improving them – but Rivaille couldn't give a shit, his eyes followed the man blankly but his focus was on nothing in particular. Not the whispers about his little arrangement with Erwin or the sarcastic remarks about how such a 'tiny person' couldn't possibly stand a chance against a Titan. As if their height gave them some advantage in the air, facing beasts ten and more times their size. Idiocy, all of it.

The Squad Leader was more than peeved, he was damn near reaching his limit of patience with Erwin's little pet. The shit wasn't and hadn't paid him the least bit of attention the entire time. Even now, though his eyes were fixed upon him as the rest of the recruits, that gaze was blank and distant – completely uncaring to the knowledge he was trying to impart. Well, he had a little plan of how to knock some of that arrogance out as he paced through the rows of attentive soldiers.

Thoughts of flying and twisting on the maneuver gear were trashed with the hair raising, muscle tensing alarm that sang through body at the presence of danger – snapping Rivaille from his inattention. Movements honed from years of walking a knife's edge of being murdered and living saved him from the fist flying for his jaw with a duck and twist – but it was only a last minute recognition that stayed his own knee burying itself in his Squad Leader's kidney. The man's face betrayed his surprise in the slightest widening of eyes as they locked onto Rivaille's own, sharp and cold from the almost-assault – every muscle still strung taunt. Within a moment the Captain collected himself, smirked and continued on his lecture without another word. Rivaille fell back into line, jaw clenched and eyes following the man with a feral intensity.

Unnoticed, Hanji watched in a mixture of fascination and skepticism.

"I'll pair you for the hand to hand. Levi…"

Rivaille moved at the sound of his name, eyeing up the other soldier the man called. The bastard had a sadistic streak, looked like he picked the biggest fucker in the entire group. Ah well, bigger they are the harder they fall, and Rivaille was well acquainted with all the soft spots. Had the guy been fat it might've been another matter, punching through layers of padding was different than hitting muscle bound clusters of nerves.

He stood silent in front of the behemoth of a man, not bothering to tilt his head – merely gazing up through long lashes as the sneering soldier. Apparently he thought this would be easy. Behind them the Captain continued to pair people off.

"You don't look too scared to be facing someone twice your size, shrimp."

Rivaille's expression remained flat, aloof as he scanned over the body in front of him with a flick of his eyes.

"Unless you plan to eat me, I don't figure I have much to worry about."

"Tch, tough talk for Squad Leader Smith's little bitch. So, why don't you tell me how ya managed to convince them to let you in?"

"They wanted at least one person who wasn't a complete dumbass."

Was the flat response, the guy's brow twitched – his face too easy to read, showing his assurance of his strength, his irritation that someone like Rivaille had been let in – 'taken a short cut' or been given some special treatment.

"I figure they just wanted one good cock sucker have some fun with. Think you're so high an' mighty because you got private training with Smith – but our training was with the gear, not spreading our legs."

Rivaille felt the stirring of that itch to put this little bitch in his place. In his world, one did not merely turn the other cheek to an insult – but he had to wait until the Captain called 'go'… for now, he arched a brow amusedly, biting back the irritation creeping like ants beneath his skin.

"If I didn't know better I'd think you were flirting."

"Heh, I don't have a taste for little girly-boys."

He flicked a piece of Rivaille's hair that hung to his shoulders and Rivaille pulled his head back casually, fingers twitching to wrap around the bastard's throat. '_In time Rivaille, in time… just wait.' _The Captain was almost done now, and he could lay into the fucker until he was satisfied.

"Alright go!"

His lips curled, a grin that incited the giant into throwing his left fist in a punch – lunging forward with all his weight behind the attack. Rivaille jerked to the left, slipped his right hand around the fist to latch onto his wrist before jerking the guy forward – an easy feat considering his momentum. He ducked under the arm, lunged forward and buried his knee in the fucker's kidney, savoring the crunch of rib that joined the blow and the gasp that gurgled free of his victim. Foot landing, he twisted his hips, lurching to his opponent's side to bury his right knee into the fool's solar plexus. It hurt, he could tail from the heaving choke as the brute doubled forward, but Rivaille didn't release his wrist, completing his trek around the soldier his drug the arm backwards and jerked upward, until the other's face met the dirt and a boot planted itself between his shoulder blades. A twist and the wrist snapped, shoving downward and yanking back with all his weight and he felt the joint give, pop from its secure place and almost grinned a the shriek that broke from the man's throat. In moments he was down, but a second later he was on his back – daze from the successive blows and easy prey for Rivaille to painfully plant his knees at his shoulders, digging down into the wounded arm as he grabbed his shirt collar and landed the first punch.

Delicious. It hurt his knuckles, but they were beyond accustomed to such brutality – again and again the punches landed, he felt bone give beneath the man's eye – saw a tooth detach and slip from between busted lips when the fucker's head snapped to the side.

He didn't want to stop. He'd forced every ounce of agitation down since he'd been here, listened to their ordering and ordering and demands and this and that – the whispers, the looks – enough was enough and maybe they would shut the fuck up when he was done with this one.

If not he'd beat the shit out of the rest of them.

"ENOUGH!"

The shout was loud enough it caused the suddenly silent field of horrified onlookers to jump and Rivaille to freeze mid swing, look up with the same bored, flat expression he'd sported all day.

There stood the Captain, face red in his fury and eyes bulging in disbelief – perhaps a bit of disgust as he approached at top speed without running.

"What the fuck are you doing?! This is a sparring match not a street brawl! Zoë fetch Captain Smith!"

Hanji saluted with a 'Yes Sir' and hurried off with a wide-eyed glance back to Rivaille, who was just now noticing the blood caked to his knuckles and shirt front. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he stepped back away from his opponent, unconscious and face swollen, barely recognizable. He felt satisfied. The Captain was barking for a group of recruits to carry the lump to the medics before turning burning eyes back to Rivaille.

"You, come with me."

Rivaille followed sedately, savoring the pain shooting up his arm from the excessive blows and the twinge in his knee where he'd buried it into the beefy bastard's side. This was probably going to get ugly, but he wouldn't repent what he did. They would learn to leave him the fuck alone, or he would make them. Simple.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

The Squad Leader slammed into his office, stopped when he was on the other side of the heavy wooden desk – so very similar to Erwin's – but he didn't turn around. Rivaille followed him in, closed the door quietly and waited, watching the Captain's shoulders heave as he attempted to calm himself. He would likely have attempted to punch Rivaille himself for his audacity had he turned to look at him.

It was at length that he spoke, voice shaking with fury.

"I don't know where the hell you are – who the hell you think you are, or where you think you are for that matter – but this is the Recon Corps. It is not some fucking cesspit of brutality where we savage our comrades."

He turned finally and Rivaille noted dislike that bordered loathing in that gaze, he blinked slowly.

"It is okay to verbally brutalize each other then."

The man' eyes widened yet again at the flat tone, unconcerned as it was… '_Arrogant' _the Captain thought as he seethed, placed his palms atop his desk for something to do with his hands.

"I don't know why the hell Erwin dragged a rabid mongrel like you here – or what the fuck he puts up with – but I will not stand by and watch some piece of shit like you beat my soldiers near to death, or stand by for your insubordination."

Had the guy breathed? Rivaille's fingers twitched at the tone, at the implications that he was not worthy of such an _honorable _position as basic suicide that the Recon Corps was.

"So what is your solution?"

"I'll see you put out of this organization before you cause more problems."

Brows arched high, the only sigh of surprise that registered on Rivaille's face. Surely they wouldn't boot him for one altercation? Well, maybe they would if this fucker who seemed to take an instant dislike to Rivaille pushed hard enough. After all, what was one no-body soldier without even _proper _training, compared to a Squad Leader with merit?

They would protect their own, and regardless of any delusions he may have been able to wrap himself in so long as he ignored them all – Rivaille knew he was _not _one of them. He was estranged by his odd induction, by the private training, by the enigma that surrounded where he came from.

He opened his mouth to speak but the door opened and Erwin stepped in, looking impassive as ever – though his eyes jerked between the irate Captain and Rivaille before narrowing.

"What is going on? Zoë said you requested me?"

Polite as ever, calm as ever. Rivaille rolled his eyes, allowed his gaze to drift to the adjacent wall as the Captain leapt to speak to Erwin, with a sharp gesture to Rivaille.

"I would suggest you collar and muzzle your little pet before he injures more of our recruits."

The statement was a hiss and Erwin seemed the tiniest bit surprised as he cast a quick glance to Rivaille.

"What happened?" Erwin asked, almost tentatively.

"One of our recruits is being seen to by the medics – I don't know the extent of the damage yet , but he was an unconscious bloody mess when I called this mongrel off him."

Erwin sighed, heavily, as though he'd been expecting something like this and Rivaille felt a stab of annoyance and betrayal that the blonde's trust ran so shallow.

"I'll take care of it."

"See that you do, or I'll have him thrown out."

Erwin nodded and gestured for Rivaille to follow as he exited the office. Rivaille did so, and didn't bother further acknowledging or saluting the other Captain – a final bit of _insubordination _to shove in his ugly ass face.

* * *

**Notes: **So have been angsting over being dissatisfied with my writing… I fucking finally wrote this chapter T.T finally… sixdays wtfsrsly

And a fucking big giant thanks to Petula Petunia who always manages to rouse these damned ideas for shit that I hadn't contemplated yet

Also my gratitude to the people who favorite/followed/reviewed c; sorry if I haven't replied to you ye will but I'm a bit of a procrastinator esp. if I don't have shit witty to say -angst in corner-

Anonymous Reviewer: (Whimsical) That makes a lot more sense XD I was familiar with the fanciful / capricious definition and not the other. Hurdur and I googled for whimsical styles but all ppl did was reference books I haven't read B| it was terribly frustrating… considering how lazy I am and that would've required the additional effort to look at those books x , x

Written to;

Guns 'n Roses – _Welcome to the Jungle_

Vistlip - _SINDRA _


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_I can't remember that my mother ever struck me, she really wasn't the type. She didn't need to – there was nothing worse than having her look at me in disappointment. So I always tried to make sure she never had any reason to look at me like that. _

_I'd much rather see her smile. _

_But sometimes I think, she'd have more reason than ever to look at me with that furrow between her brows and eyes half covered by those ridiculously long lashes, and the slight downturn of her lips… disappointed. Even that expression is one I wouldn't mind seeing now… I can hardly remember her smile, but perhaps that is just a guilty conscience. _

_I wanted to make her proud, to make her life easier… but she died so long ago that it stopped mattering. _

_The only thing that became important was surviving because I knew she wouldn't want me to give up. _

_I think… maybe some things would make her proud. _

_That she would know I can be a decent human being and not some heartless piece of shit willing to step on anyone, hurt anyone – to get what I want(ed). _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

Rivaille followed Erwin from the room, turned to leave – but a glance to the man's face had him pausing. The blonde's expression was colder than Rivaille had yet seen it, eyes fixed on the opposite wall and a muscle in his jaw twitching. He was pissed, incredibly so to be showing it physically – however minor. Blue eyes, cold as the glaciers Rivaille once saw pictures off in some old, very illegal book, and he knew without it being spoken to follow. Erwin still spoke.

"I need to speak with you."

And off he went, not waiting a reply as he headed briskly for his office and Rivaille found himself – much to his irritation – taking at least two steps for every one of Erwin's. Fucking freakishly tall bastard. He didn't speak and the blank expression was held, almost like a shield, tightly as they neared the Captain's office. Erwin held the door, followed him through and closed it. The lock was flicked, it would hinder any who dared try to enter and risk interrupting what was likely to be a very long, very nerve wracking conversation.

Rivaille steeled himself for it as Erwin took his seat, rested his elbows atop the wooden surface and laced his fingers. He peered over them, unblinkingly – as though collecting his thoughts (or maybe his temper) before speaking.

Rivaille didn't have to wait long. Erwin had so much more control than the fool they'd just left. It also put him more on edge, it was harder to predict or bait someone – or manipulate them – who held everything so neatly under wraps, and he didn't know the man well enough to pick up every tell that might clue him into the unspoken.

"I had expected you to handle yourself with much more grace. I'm quite disappointed to find I was wrong."

Rivaille's lips tightened into a line as he stood perhaps a foot from the desk. Condescending bastard, of _course _he would be _disappointe. _

"And how is it I should have, _handled myself._"

His tone dripped with innuendo that had Erwin's laced fingers tensing, knuckles protruding white beneath his fair skin. Rivaille smirked internally.

"Do not play stupid, Levi. I expected you to behave as a soldier."

He stared blankly at Erwin, one brow arched. The blonde sighed, lids drooping as he continued.

"You are a soldier now, not a street thug. You must obey orders – you can't pick and choose who and what you listen to. You'll be kicked out or, depending on the offense, imprisoned."

Rivaille sneered, not enjoying the lecture quality of Erwin's tone.

"Roll over like a dog at their beck and call? I think not. I disobeyed no orders."

Erwin glared, cold and fierce and Rivaille matched it with indifference creeping into irritation.

"There is more than one way to disrespect your superiors, Levi. Not showing them respect, attacking your comrades, disregarding what they have to say – back talking them when they call you on unacceptable behavior-"

The sharp, bitter laugh cut Erwin off and he allowed the statement to end as Rivaille ventured around the desk, eyes narrowed and shoulders hunched. It was as much defensive as offensive, the blonde realized, that predator-like slink, the dipped chin and half-lidded gaze. He turned to face Rivaille, who now stood behind the desk with him.

Another slight, however subtle – he'd invited himself into Erwin's personal space.

"Where I'm from you don't allow people to walk all over you. It is degrading. You don't allow them to say whatever the fuck they want and meekly bow your fucking head and move on."

He smirked, so suddenly and viciously that Erwin was taken aback by the cruelty in the expression.

"Maybe this method is why your spineless fucking soldiers are so giddy to go shit themselves and die fighting a pointless goddamn battle against things that eat them like tea cakes."

Erwin's eyes flared with hot fire and _rage _and Rivaille languished in the expression – in the emotion he'd baited from his superior.

"You're not in the underworld anymore, Levi, you are in a functioning, law-abiding society. And you better learn to deal with it properly before you find yourself on the streets again."

Erwin's voice was tight, restraining all the venom building in his veins as he recalled countless fallen comrades; their dying screams as they were eaten, their dying hope they'd been of some use and were not leaving this world in vain. Rivaille's eyes flared, and he was satisfied with the heat spilling black across those muted grey irises.

"Yes, of course, muzzle your _pet _or throw it out. Of course,"

He sneered, head craning back in a posture of arrogance Erwin found more suited to some fat aristocrat than the criminal he'd taken in.

"Stick to your own, but I'm not one of your little flock of headless chickens. I will not be demeaned by fucking idiots who can't shit without their hand being held."

The words were a hiss as he took another step closer, Erwin matched his stare, attempting to calm the storm in his own veins.

"You must, unless of course you miss the lifestyle you left behind so much you're willing to sacrifice the relative safety of the Recon Corps… you _must _learn to deal with people without violence. It will get you nowhere. They are your comrades – they don't know you – you've given them no chance to, it only follows that they don't trust you either. How can they?"

Rivaille's eyes flared, nostrils matching the spike of anger so sharp it was poignant and almost painful to look at.

"Why the _fuck _should I trust pieces of shit like that? Why must I prove that I am trustworthy without them doing the same?"

Erwin sat forward, fingers tense around the arms of his chair in preparation for the physical violence he imagined was nearing.

"Because you're a criminal. None of us know if we can trust you not to rob us blind and run off back to your posse in the streets."

"Yes, of course, bow my head and scurry around like your fucking _whipping boy _but fucking forbid I move one toe over the line and _offend _one of your precious little recruits."

So much anger, Erwin had to wonder where it came from.

"Whipping boy? I don't know what you're talking about. Any decent soldier picks and chooses their battles, and fighting amongst your peers will win you nothing but ostracism."

"Well let the stupid fucks _ostracize," _He mocked Erwin's tone with a bob of his head and another sneer. "Better than tucking tail and running off to die at the mention of some stupid fucking scheme to gallop outside the walls and look like hero-"

Skin struck skin, hard and unforgiving and Rivaille hit the floor, blood splattering from his busted lip as Erwin dropped the hand he'd used to backhand him with. The blonde twitched with fury of the mockery Rivaille attempted to make of his fallen comrades. Erwin moved so quickly he hadn't had a chance to respond, so caught up in his own diatribe. But Erwin was in his face, and the blonde almost missed the flash of betrayal that gave him only the briefest pause before he grabbed a handful of that long, dark – surprisingly soft – hair and jerked Rivaille's head up to lock their gazes.

That cold, steely look was back – ready to defy and fight tooth and nail (probably literally) for any inch of ground to assert himself.

"Don't mock men better than yourself. But I wouldn't expect a wretch to understand sacrifice."

The tone was cold, unforgiving – hurt that flickered in dark eyes was consumed as quickly as it came by a hatred that ran as deep as the marrow in his bones. Rivaille ripped his head away violently, surprising strength behind the action as he tore free – leaving hair, skin and blood in Erwin's fist as he twirled and slammed the heel of his foot in the blonde's shoulder – toppling him before scrambling to a stand.

Erwin was only momentarily shocked by Rivaille's willingness to mutilate himself in escape, and the blow that knocked him to the floor before he too was lurching to his feet in a defensive posture.

"What the fuck would _you _know? I've known you for a few months – at the most – do not talk down to me because you think you're so goddamn pure and _just _because you follow the same corrupt system that _allowed me to work._"

The truth stung, Erwin knew it was true but it wasn't the point of this conversation. The point was that Rivaille needed to rise above what he was – remake himself – if he had any hope of surviving here… and he couldn't understand why the other clung to that darkness so desperately.

"You won't survive here if you don't drop that attitude. You aren't where you were – you can't be who you were anymore."

His tone was reasonable but the anger it met with wasn't to be reasoned with, Erwin knew Rivaille was about to run and lunged at him as he bolted for the door.

It was a split second – it felt like – occurrence… yet it seemed to last an eternity, move impossibly slow. Erwin lunged, hand outstretched as Rivaille moved – twisted and turned back, a knife pulled from who knows where and lashing out in a silver arch to parry what the raging man considered to be a threat.

He wouldn't be caged. He wouldn't be brow beaten into submission. He wouldn't be trapped by these bastards he ran to for safety.

When crimson bloomed through the air, Erwin hissed in pain – and Rivaille watched the metal slice cleanly, easily through the blonde's palm – deep enough to skitter across delicate bone – his eyes widened, pallor blanching.

The blade clattered to the ground, Rivaille stumbled and Erwin collided into him, sending them both to the ground, cracking the back of Rivaille's skull against the floor. Erwin was pinning him a moment later as he fought through the daze and shock of having lashed out so violently at the blonde.

He never lost control. _Never. _

Yet he just had.

Erwin could only stare down; skin paled from the blow to Rivaille's head that seeped blood across the stone floor – would likely leave a nasty bump, the purpling bruise forming on his cheek and the trickle of blood down his lips. Strange, how _small _he suddenly looked, trapped beneath him. But the illusion shattered when Rivaille immediately began writhing and thrashing around in an attempt to free himself, eyes blazing hatred as he cursed a fluent stream of French.

Erwin steeled himself, a deep breath and drew back again –striking the same cheek viciously. Rivaille's head snapped to the side, his movements stilled. His breathing was heavy, pupils blown so large his eyes were black and hair clung to his skin from blood and sweat.

"That little stunt could have you imprisoned for assaulting an officer… what is _wrong _with you? You can't do this Levi. I vouched for you – and my ass is on the line just as yours is. Get it together. This can't happen again."

He'd grabbed Rivaille's shirt at some point, but the smaller man wasn't looking at him – eyes distant as though detaching so entirely from the situation that all of it ceased to matter. It was mildly unnerving but Erwin assumed the hit to his head might've aided in that look.

He released his shirt, stood with a sigh and raked his hand through his hair, eyes squeezing shut. He needed to calm down. He'd lost control too. It was completely unacceptable. That couldn't happen again either.

"I'll have a medic look at you… come on."

He grabbed Rivaille's arm, and the smaller followed willingly, exhausted and sore and unwilling to push the issue again now. Eyes refused to acknowledge Erwin and he swayed slightly as he stood, cursing the fucker as his vision slanted and he thought he might fall before forcing himself forward. Erwin lingered close by, a hand loosely on his arm – the touch almost gentle, as though prepared to aid him should he fall. He wanted to sneer, but really didn't have the damned energy for that shit.

This wasn't over. Erwin could think he won for now, but Rivaille had no intention of listening to him.

Erwin glanced at his head, and Rivaille wondered what the hell he was looking at, until he remembered he was likely missing a large clump of hair. He sighed, eyes closing briefly – he could pass out now… but he felt filthy and once registered, he could feel the disgusting stickiness at the back of his skull, clinging to the back of his neck and staining his uniform. It would take forever to scrub out.

"We'll need to cut your hair… unless you want to continue on with a gap."

Rivaille didn't comment, at the moment, he just really couldn't be bothered to give a shit about something so unimportant.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

The medic was most unimpressed when Erwin and Rivaille entered her office, but she held her tongue and didn't ask questions when Erwin sent her a look. Today was a day for problems – the guy that came in earlier was finally being stabilized and she was looking forward to a reprieve from her part when in walks a Squad Leader and soldier.

She stitched Erwin's hand and bandaged it, offered him pain killers that he denied and then turned to Rivaille. He ignored her existence and attempts at conversation as she checked for concussion before deeming him not in danger of one and observing the bare spot on the back of his head. It looked painful, as though his hair was ripped out and she cast a disapproving glance at Erwin, lips pursed. He offered a one-armed shrug and said nothing.

"The hair will need to be cut…"

She was reaching for shears when Erwin stood, gesture her away.

"I'll handle it."

With a hesitating nod she left the room.

Erwin gathered a bowl of warm water, a cloth, comb, shears and razor. It was slow work, avoiding the wound, but Rivaille wasn't offering any resistance. It bothered Erwin somewhat, how docile the man was being after such a violent outburst. He allowed his head to be pushed forward gently, hair shoved over the front of his face as Erwin set to work on the back, trimming and removing the length after wetting it with a comb – before shearing it off close to the scalp. The wound looked worse now, and the lump on the back of his head was more visible.

Erwin bit back a grimace as he tapped Rivaille's chin and allowed him to right his head before setting to work shortening the rest of the hair. He had a natural part, more flipping to the left, and Erwin kept to the asymmetrical theme until black dusted just above thin eyebrows and the angular features once softened by the length of hair, came into sharp focus. Rivaille looked older with the short hair, he looked old anyway if one looked at his eyes. Erwin stepped back to observe his work and received a nod from the medic as she returned.

She set to work immediately bandaging the wound and offering painkillers that were yet again refused.

Rivaille cleared his throat after a moment, dusting hair from his shoulders and back and front as he stared hard at the floor.

"That should be cleaned up."

It was a flat statement, but somehow, the _normality _of it eased the knot of tension he hadn't noticed formed in his stomach.

"I'll clean it."

He offered, an olive branch that was taken with a ginger nod as Rivaille stood and moved aside to await Erwin.

* * *

**Notes: **Finally to the good parts B| drama ahoy

Written to;

Russian Red – _Cigarettes _

Nouvelle Vague – _Dancing With Myself _

Chimène Badi - _Parlez_-_moi de lui_

Coeur de Pirate - _Place de la République_

Christophe Maé - _Un Peu De Blues_


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_There were arenas in Sina slums, carefully hidden and for the most part undisturbed (even sometimes visited) by the Military Police. These arenas fought dogs, cocks and, on occasion, people. Spectators lined the side-lines, drunk and drugged – while whores meandered the line, another distraction, another monetary pull – they placed bets and screamed for their favored to win. _

_The gore was almost a spectacular sight. I lost what little food I'd eaten the first time I saw them set two dogs on each other. One was an old, scarred veteran – he was missing an eye and his legs bowed and head seemed at a constant stoop. _

_It was obvious he would win. The other was too energetic, too wild for the savage he was faced against. _

_It's funny, that people speak of animals as though they have no ability to feel… but I wonder about that. That old, scarred dog scared the fuck out of me – with his one eye and gimpy ear – the remaining eye was flat. It was empty. _

_It spoke of death and murder and ascendancy beyond the fear and disgust killing one's own or facing the gallows yourself. But it still looked defeated, accepting of its fate. Beaten; powerful but under the thumb of its caregivers who were no more hesitant than the enemy dog to beat the thing down and withhold food for the most minor of offenses. _

_They were vicious animals, these dogs, but when they fought – they were beautiful. Alive in the festering world limited to that ring and a chicken-wire cage. _

_When I looked at them then, young and impressionable – after fighting in the ring myself – I felt they were creatures I could understand… that understood the revelry in the crunch of bone beneath fist or jaw, the spray of red across the dirt encrusted ground. _

_Fighting made me feel alive, in a way nothing else could. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

Rivaille skipped dinner, and perhaps some of the other soldiers wondered if that was part of his punishment considering their drill Captain and Captain Erwin were both there… although curiously enough Erwin had a bandage wrapped about his hand and seemed to favor not using it as much as was normal. The reality was far less wholesome. Skipping dinner hadn't been Rivaille's punishment, but no it was something much more… enlightening.

He was alone here – as he had always been – though he thought at least Erwin to have some stake in his corner…

But other than keep his own ass out of boiling water; he seemed to lean more toward all of the _other _recruits.

Rivaille couldn't and didn't particularly want to identify why that left a bitter taste on his tongue, why it made that accustomed loneliness seem that much more… _empty. _

He could've laughed, mocked himself for his own stupidity. Did he honestly think it would have been different? Perhaps if he was merely a thug, some petty criminal working the streets for extra money, but he'd been at the top – though few actually knew that. It was different, inviting someone who excelled in every dehumanizing field of the underworld without so much as batting a lash, than it was someone fighting to merely survive.

Rivaille pulled a harsh drag on the cigarette perched between his lips as he stared vacantly out the window, watching smoke trail into the darkened sky, lost in thought. They were all enemies, surrounded as always. So he would just have to face this the same way he faced his previous life. He would study those enemies, he would learn what made them tick – and he would _cohabitate _– let Erwin think he'd won. Rivaille would play their petty game as he played the games in the underworld… and he would usurp them. Steal that glory from beneath their nose, though he had no desire for it himself, it would be satisfying to have front row seats to their failure and disbelief.

_Knock. Knock. _

Rivaille looked at the door, wondering who the hell would come knocking at such an hour – but he was answered a moment later when the door cracked open and Hanji poked their head in, smile in place though tinged with concern when she took in the bruise on his face.

"I brought food. Captain Erwin told me where your room was."

As if they'd read the question on his face, Hanji answered before stepping into the room and closing the door. They set the meager amount of food on the table – but he found he still lacked appetite to touch it. He raised a brow at them as they took a seat, eyes intent and glimmering.

"Where are you from?"

He debated not answering, but this could be a first step in that re-worked plan of disillusionment.

"Sina."

They nodded, as though it made sense, gaze flicking to one side before sliding back to lock with his own flat eyes.

"The way you fight…"

A pause, he exhaled another plume of smoke, waiting.

"Where did you learn?"

"That isn't really relevant, is it?"

Hanji grinned, it seemed forced as they shrugged and sat back, arms crossing – gathering their bearings.

"It's only that… I've only seen fighting like that in the rings…" His brows arched high and sharp, Hanji continued, leaning forward. "My brother, he fought in the rings for money before he joined the Corps… he was killed by Titans. It's sort of why I joined."

"How noble." Rivaille's voice dripped sarcasm but Hanji merely shrugged it away.

"Not really. I find them fascinating too, Titans… but I hate them too, for taking away my brother and life as I'd known it."

Vengeance. The course of fools, he wondered how quickly Hanji would die in the field – zipping into a battle to seek out their brand of justice on mindless monsters who ate and ate and ate and destroyed and nothing else.

"Why are you here?"

That question was relevant, but Rivaille paused in contemplation, stubbed the rolled cigarette out in a small dish and cast a sidelong glance to his unwanted companion.

"Nowhere left to go."

Hanji nodded and that was that. Still they lingered in silence for some time, both lost in their own thoughts. Rivaille was beginning to wonder if this would consume the rest of the night when Hanji shifted and broke the silence, his eyes locked onto them, questioning.

"Erwin did that… to your face… and your hair?"

It was really more a statement than a question, and Rivaille grunted in response. They nodded, not really needing the affirmation and they stood afterward, giving him another smile.

"Tomorrow we're training with the gear, Captain Mike will be the one shouting the orders then. At least he isn't as much of an ass as the other, yeah?"

Indeed, it at least kindled a spark of excitement to lift the mood, after all, he was more than ready to be back in the air – wondered how different it would be with a flock of others working through the same things. It started a burn of excitement and he even bid Hanji goodnight as they left, silently closing the door.

Rivaille lay in bed awake and unable to sleep as the day swirled through his thoughts, and the new plan of action he formulated to handle and best the fuckers intent on their superior attitude. He would do it without the pre-training they held in such high esteem to stroke their own damn ego… but Erwin was there too. The loss of control, and a flicker of relief that at least this time there hadn't been that spark of arousal as last time – that spark that almost made him not want to escape then – when now it'd been the only thing he'd wanted to do. Remove himself from the overbearing Captain's presence and refortify the barriers between himself and everyone else.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

Morning came slow, a gradual gradient of shadows to light across the masonry of the room and Rivaille rose when the birds began to distantly chirp, readied as quickly and efficiently as ever before stepping from his room. And right into the sights of Erwin Smith, who stood across the small hallway, leaned against the wall with stoic moue back in place. Those eyes locked on him as he closed his door and Erwin was moving forward, stopping barely a foot away and looking down.

Rivaille almost scowled at the obvious size difference between them, but said and did nothing as he waited for his superior to speak.

"Have breakfast with me."

A command, not a request and Rivaille dipped his head briefly in ascent before following the blonde to the very office they'd clashed the night before. There wasn't a mark or sign of the conflict now, and it seemed so far away when standing in the fresh sunlight of morning – washing away the shadows it cast. Erwin sat and gestured Rivaille to do the same and he did.

"I wonder, in Sina, if you ate fruit often. It is quite a commodity here – where the essentials are given and it is rare to have such… delicacies."

Grey eyes flickered to the covered plate as Erwin removed the top, revealing grapes, toast and two apples. Not a large breakfast, but one that had his mouth watering. Grapes were _rare _– a luxury usually only affordable by the blue blood bitches in high society.

"You're… offering this to me?"

Confusion, though it didn't particularly give any inflection to his tone. Erwin smiled.

"Consider it a peace offering… an apology, for yesterday."

Right, except Rivaille highly doubted Erwin had any true regret from yesterday. Still, he shrugged and graciously accepted the food that exploded flavor across his tongue and wetted he appetite he'd lost the night before. It was surprisingly filling, to be so scarce – and they ate in a strangely comfortable silence.

But all things must end and the food wasn't endless – so Rivaille stood, somewhat stiffly to excuse himself for training, but before he could open the door – Erwin was there.

"Levi."

His voice was low, had the muscles in Rivaille's shoulders tensing as he turned back to the man, unwilling to show him his back. His gaze was wary as Erwin swooped in, forearm braced on the wall – face seemingly inches from his own and those calm, calm eyes locked on his own. Erwin gave nothing away, and Rivaille was trapped lest he bite and scratch his way free again (or try). It was annoying when he felt the first spark of arousal at the proximity; controlled and authoritative – looming in front of him.

"Behave today won't you?"

It wasn't a question. That tone carried the weight of an order that went straight to his dick and he had barely time to narrow his eyes and tighten his jaw against an insult before Erwin's breath brushed the shell of his ear. Closer, impossibly close – so much so he could smell the soap and cologne that clung to the blonde's clothing and skin.

"Please?"

Taunting, teasing. Fucking controlled and he was hard, breath hitching sharply as Erwin pulled back, a smirk touching his lips and eyes flickering down, down where Rivaille knew his body gave him away. As soon as the arm was removed he was gone through the door and speed-walking for the training field as he attempted to calm the eruption of heat in his body and chase away arousal.

It wasn't working so well.

Erwin remained behind a moment, considering how the little test turned out. It was interesting, the difference. But it made sense. He'd lost control the night before, and it would explain the rabid defiance of the night before – when the first time he hadn't lost control, hadn't lost his cool. It would be interesting, to see how this new weapon Rivaille had unwittingly handed him could be put to use.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

The sun was bright when he stepped outside, the burning arousal of earlier fading as he approached the group of soldiers, many taking a double glance at the bruise, bandage and cropped hair. Y

'_Look all you want fucking pigs.' _

Rivaille ignored him, fell into a spot next to Hanji and fixed eyes on Mike who stood before them cool and relaxed as if he were enjoying leisure time rather than beginning an exercise.

"We're going to practice basic maneuvers today. I want to see how well you move when surrounded by your fellow soldiers – then we'll move into learning the formations and maneuvers of the Corps."

He was pacing, making a beeline for Rivaille as he called them all to launch into the copse of trees for demonstration. Rivaille was crouched, ready to fly into the air when Mike spoke again.

"No, stay here Levi,"

He might have protested but Mike raised a hand to stop the expletives he was sure were about to come his way.

"I want you to watch and learn how they move first, before joining."

Ah, well, that was understandable. Not that he was impressed. Despite his lack of sleep, a weird energy thrummed in his body, almost giddy for release. Still, he watched the sub-par idiots glide about on the gear, a surge of longing to join them leaving a bitter taste on his tongue. Mike leaned in, sniffed at him and Rivaille jerked to glower at the Captain who acted as though he'd done nothing _weird _in the least.

"You weren't at breakfast…"

He could smell soap and the faintest traces of Erwin's cologne and… well, the last scent explained a lot to the Captain. It also brought the barest touches of a smirk to his face.

"Dining with Captain Smith… hmm."

Was that a joke? Rivaille sighed and turned away, face impassive, though it didn't stop the irritation.

"You smell like Erwin."

Rivaille lifted his arm, sniffed at the jacket sleeve and immediately felt ridiculous when all he detected was soap. Did this idiot have the nose of a bloodhound? Ridiculous… but if he smelt Erwin… Grey narrowed, casting a sidelong glance.

"Oh?"

He prompted and Mike's smirk grew just slightly – he was such a calm guy, one of those people who didn't cause problems – that it was a bit unnerving to watch the mischief in that expression.

"Just making an observation. The Captain does seem awful soft on you, and despite your talent, it is still rare that one of the Captain's takes on privately teaching a subordinate."

It was a leading question Rivaille had no intention of answering. Mike wanted answers about why he was here, what his involvement with Erwin was – and _he _certainly wouldn't be the one to enlighten the nosy fucker. Wasn't his business. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and changed the subject.

"I didn't think you would start teaching formations so soon."

Mike sobered, smirk dropping as he nodded.

"Normally we wouldn't in the first week – but we have an expedition in a month. We're short on time and we need to prepare everyone as much as possible."

Ah, that made sense. They would have another body count to deal with, likely most of these recruits wouldn't even be alive by the end of the month. It might have been a depressing though to him, if Rivaille didn't consider it a given for those who joined the Corps. He vowed not to be one of those wastes and die beyond the walls. It would only prove them right and he was unwilling to provide that satisfaction.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

_**** Minor Content Warning ****_

Rivaille didn't have the chance to practice with them that day, but at a request he practiced with Erwin and Mike later. The formations were easy, logical if one thought about it. The signals would be the only real time consuming thing to learn – to speak with motion rather than words when the cacophony of battle prevented speech. It was fascinating, exciting.

He flew with the rest of the recruits the next day. Drills filled the morning that Rivaille went through the motions for while keeping a low head for the asshole in charge of them. The evenings were spent grappling through trees or scaling the castle. He held pace with them, not bothering to waste energy showing off for people who would learn when he was _ready _for them too – just how far out of their league he was.

It was the end of the week, finally, being around so many people (annoying shits) was taxing and Rivaille spent the morning cleaning a castle that seemed to become grungy with alarming speed. Although really, it wasn't that surprising given the number of filthy slobs marching through it day after day. It annoyed him, but provided a satisfying way to fill time (and avoid an exuberant Hanji who took every opportunity to bounce to his side and spout gibberish he didn't give a fuck about). They were somewhat bearable though, he supposed. Now, though, cleaning was done and nothing sounded better than scrubbing the sweat and grime from his own skin with a shower.

A shower that was interrupted when he stepped into the bathing room and found two of the other soldiers loitering about and whispering conspiringly. Rivaille stopped and stared as they did the same, silence encompassing the room. Muscles tensed and jumped beneath clothes and skin when one sneered suddenly and stepped forward – some ridiculous insult on the tip of his tongue.

Erwin was looking for Rivaille, they needed to speak on what happened before – it was _there _like a purple elephant but not something addressed… and how _out of control _he'd been bothered him. It wasn't something that could happen again – and Erwin was adamant of putting himself in a somewhat similar position to ensure this time he didn't lose it. It was irksome and not helping that he couldn't find the small man anywhere, although the path of pristine cleanliness was easy enough to follow – right up to a bathing room not filled by the sounds of pattering water but the jostle of bodies, hissed angry voices, shouts and dull thumps of fighting.

Again. He hadn't meant the situation to be _this _similar to the original.

Erwin stepped into the shower room just as Rivaille landed a punch to the soldier's jaw he had pinned beneath him, face as impassive as he'd ever seen it – though Erwin guessed he hadn't thrown all his strength behind the hit given the state of the other man in the infirmary. The second attempted to grab the smaller man's arms from behind, but received an elbow to the jaw for his efforts and staggered back, stunned from the blow. His fist was up again, ready to deliver another blow – a feral gleam in his dark eyes that prickled at Erwin's skin to imagine taming that savagery.

"Levi."

He didn't shout, he didn't need to. His voice boomed about the room with the finality of a command and Rivaille froze, gaze flicking up to Erwin in hesitation, leaving room for the man on the ground to slam a fist into his jaw that snapped his head to the side.

No.

Four, large strides and he was across the room, pulling Rivaille back with a hand fisted in his jacket and raining icy hell with glacial eyes to the soldier on the ground. They would never be done with punishment. Throwing a hit after a captain has called off a fight? In front of a captain? Even if he hadn't spoken the exact words, it should be common sense – but quite obviously was not. The man on the ground quaked, eyes wide as he looked ready to sink himself into the floor beneath him.

"Your audacity is not amusing. You and your friend,"

He turned, catching the other in his peripheral with the same cold look.

"Laps until I tell you to stop, and I hope you look forward to them every evening for the next week. And trust me, I'll know if you don't."

They were gone within a blink, after a snappy salute and pale complexions. Not even offered the reprieve of a nurse – Erwin thought they could use the heat beating down on their bruised skin as a good reminder. He turned to Rivaille when he could no longer hear their footsteps, his hand had moved, resting now on the back of the other man's neck, fingers pressed against the skin where he could feel the calming pulse beat, but not painfully. He sighed at the stubborn set to Rivaille's jaw, turned to fully face him with the slightest of frowns on his face.

"I don't want you fighting them, Levi."

Rivaille sneered, but didn't attempt to jerk free of Erwin's hold – seemingly subdued though his voice carried a harsh edge.

"And what do you want, Erwin?"

His hand never left Rivaille's neck as Erwin gave a thoughtful hum and turned, walking them from the room and toward his office. It was too easy to be overheard in such public places and he wanted privacy for this (likely) confrontation. The walk was made in silence, Rivaille almost unnervingly docile and Erwin wondered if it was out of desire for privacy, or the fingers rubbing circles on his neck. He almost smirked at the idea of it being the latter – but pushed it away as he opened the door to his office and led them inside. His hand dropped and Rivaille turned, as though expecting an immediate answer – but there was none coming.

The short man nearly jerked in shock when there were hands on the backs of his thighs, lifting and depositing him on the edge of Erwin's fucking desk – like a damn child and he opened his mouth with a scathing remark but the bastard was gone. He didn't have to wait long, Erwin was back with antiseptic and a fresh bandage. Ah, so this is how this would go. Rivaille settled, eyes like a hawk on the blonde as he stepped to his side, the tips of calloused fingers brushing against his chin (and that really shouldn't have been so arousing) to turn his face away. He complied easily, awaited an answer he knew would be coming.

"What I want… is to see humanity victorious and the Titan's destroyed."

'_Tch, typical.' _

"Typical. You sound as though you would sacrifice anything for the _sake of humanity._"

"If it became necessary to sacrifice all that I have – I would."

Rivaille wouldn't – even if some called him a monster… heartless… he wasn't. But he'd learned showing your heart to the world would have it crushed and drug through the fucking mud, so he prioritize what and who he cared about. Erwin… Erwin had the look of a man who could be twice the monster Rivaille was – even if it was for an ultimate good. It was _cold_ and unnerving. Rivaille jerked as the bandage being removed tugged at his hair, short as it was now he didn't need a fucking bald spot. Erwin's breath brushed his neck in a chuckle as the bandage was discarded and the sting of ointment replaced it. It was a good sting though, it meant the wound would be _clean _and void of possible infection.

"Talking like that, it's no damn wonder they call you the most ruthless man in the Corps."

Erwin hummed, dabbed at the wound and discarded the dirtied gauze.

"Someone must be ready to carry that burden – if humanity has a hope of victory."

Not survival – humanity already _survived _the way cows in a pasture awaiting slaughter. Erwin wasn't a man to sit back and allow the world to pass him idly by, it was easy enough to see – but to have it put so bluntly… Rivaille lifted and dropped a shoulder.

"So you would die – if it was expected of you… for this greater good of humanity? Roll over and die without protesting… seems cowardly."

He meant it as the biting insult it was, but Erwin only chuckled as he applied the fresh bandage.

"Your wound should be healed soon… but yes, I would die if I must. However, I doubt it would come to that."

Another fact, stated so simply – so blunt and goddamn honest it couldn't even be called the vanity Rivaille wanted to name it as. Just as always, Erwin didn't sugar coat or exaggerate the truth – and Rivaille knew it to be so true. Humanity and the Corps… they needed cold-blooded bastards like Erwin Smith if they wanted to get anywhere and not sit inside walls, waiting to be overcome and eaten by gluttonous beasts.

"You're quite confident in your worth to humanity."

Again Erwin chuckled at the acerbic statement.

"Perhaps. Hmm, Levi, what do you live for – or rather, why do you fight so hard to live?"

Rivaille was confused, it felt like a double-layered question that he wasn't entirely sure how to answer. He had an answer for what it appeared to be, but was hesitant to give it – knowing Erwin's twisted methods of leading a conversation. Whatever.

"Dying means they win."

They – he didn't have to specify who, Erwin knew he spoke of everyone that sneered down at the small man or threatened that existence when he was growing up. It was a brutal way to see things, live another day – kill the enemy and you're the victor. It wasn't so very different (though unacknowledged) from how the Corps lived. Those who returned from expeditions were victorious, in a way, those who died lost the fight to free humanity and perhaps even, themselves.

Erwin was standing in front of him now, eyes intent as they locked with Rivaille's own, unflinching and he felt another shiver of arousal at the _presence _Erwin commanded with nary a thought.

"Make yourself someone who can't be tossed aside, disposed of. Trust your comrades, Levi – because they _are _your comrades now. Show them they can trust and rely on you to help them live. Stop fighting them, _show _them they have no right to demean you."

It was a challenge to him – to rise above what was expected and Rivaille got the feeling there was meaning between the lines of that statement… but he didn't know Erwin well enough yet to pick it out. He was hesitant to agree to it, wondering at the man's plan – and cynically amused that it _sounded _as though it ran so near to parallel to his own. He opened his mouth to rebuke the statement, or press for something less cryptic – but Erwin's hand on his neck, the thumb brushing his pulse and sending a shiver down his spine – stayed his mouth.

"No… don't argue. It is necessary, it is reality – if you want to live."

Another brush of that thumb and Rivaille felt his eyelids lowering, though he never removed his gaze from Erwin's glimmering eyes.

"I'll protect you when I can… but I can't do that if you fight me and everyone else. _Trust me._"

And fuck if that didn't have his stomach clenching and instincts shrieking to get the fuck out of that office… but he didn't move, pinned in place by that dominating presence (again) and those eyes that were less intense now but no less expecting consent. Rivaille's gaze slid away, fixed on the far wall – but he knew he would agree, because he was _logical _if violent to those who crossed him. At length he sighed and nodded, and Erwin's thumb resumed its taunting stroke against his skin, the blonde nodded and didn't press for more. He knew he wouldn't get it.

"I am… sorry for that night."

Sorry – not for the violence, the bruises – but for losing composure, because to Erwin and to Rivaille – such things were unacceptable. They were men of control, and to lose temper was… humiliating. His fingers brushed against the bruise he left on Rivaille's face, eliciting another shiver at the look in those blue, blue eyes. Rivaille smirked now, eyes returning to Erwin's face with a smirk upturning the edges of his lips.

"You shouldn't be. I quite enjoyed pissing off the unflappable Erwin Smith."

And he did, oh so much – it soothed that sadistic need to see the man act more like a human than some fucking stoic stone wall. Erwin smiled, a wickedly mischievous smile that darkened his eyes dangerously as he leaned in, suddenly too close, breath brushing against Rivaille's ear as he spoke in a low, velvet tone that went straight to Rivaille's half-hard dick. His breath caught, body tensing against the urge to lean into the feeling.

"Ah, but I think you enjoy me in control much more,"

A soft whisper, teasing as Erwin illustrated his point by tracing the painful bulge in Rivaille's trousers, a slow caress of knuckle that earned a choked groan from the smaller man. Erwin pulled back, face still close as Rivaille opened his eyes with an almost drunken glaze.

"Behave for me." Fingers touched the fresh bruise from the recent scuffle. "I'd rather not see any more of these."

A possessive command that matched the steel of those eyes and Rivaille bit his tongue to stifle the whimper the fucker almost drug out with that simple fucking statement. Erwin was smirking again, knowing exactly what he was doing and Rivaille didn't know if he resented him for it or enjoyed it too much to care, because he wasn't fighting to flee… perhaps that was the daunting part. He _wanted _to be exactly where he was.

"If not,"

Fingers twined in black tresses, the other hand a slipping beneath his thigh as Erwin guided his head back with a gentle tug. He complied, the tug on his hair – the heat of that large hand creeping to his ass as Erwin guided him back to the desk and the heat in those eyes… hypnotizing. Erwin still whispered and Rivaille listened with a ridiculous intensity as his stomach rolled and heat boiled in his blood.

"I may have to resort to… alternative methods of punishing you."

He squeezed his ass and Rivaille sucked in a breath, tongue glued to the top of his mouth in refusal to vocalize the noises caged in his chest. They escaped in a gasp and arched back when Erwin bit his neck, teeth worrying the skin before kissing the red mark that would fade within hours. A hand on his knee and Rivaille parted his legs for Erwin to step between, looming and caging him between the desk and the blonde but there were no thoughts of escape… not when his body sang with arousal and he realized he was exactly where he wanted to be.

He attempted to grab Erwin's shoulders – or his hair – but blue eyes had him freezing as Erwin slid his palm up his thigh, thumb brushing dangerously close to the painful erection still trapped beneath his clothes.

"No hands, Levi."

And he complied, eyes burning, lustful slits as he watched Erwin above him – calm as ever save for the traces of desire in his own gaze. He rolled his hips up, a taunt and an invitation because this dainty fucking teasing was going to drive him insane – no matter how he enjoyed it.

"Ah, ah – patience."

That voice was sin, a low growl in his ear, but though Erwin spoke of patience his palm curved around the bulge in his pants moments later. Rivaille moaned, neck and back arching up as he jerked his hips again but a rough tug on his hair stilled him.

"Patience. Do as I tell you and I'll give you everything you need."

What he needed? Sounded good… but what Rivaille felt he needed at the damn moment was movement and friction and fucking climax – and Erwin to please, please unbutton these forsaken pants because he felt ready to explode and the dampening, suffocating heat around his dick was uncomfortable as much as it was pleasurable.

He moaned again, though he tried to stop it, when that hand began to knead and rub and fondle his dick – and he felt the damp stain seeping farther and farther – but couldn't be bothered to care trapped in the heated ardor of the moment. Smells of sex and musk and sweat and Erwin's cologne mingled on the air and Rivaille was a flushed, panting mess beneath the Captain who seemed as detached as ever – unaffected by the choked noises and writing body beneath him. But when he leaned in, nipped at Rivaille's neck again as he untied and tossed the cravat away to suck at the skin above his clavicle – Rivaille could hear the heavier breathing, see the heat in those eyes and it only added to the intensity of the situation, though it wasn't one he ever imagined himself in.

He came with a shout, back bowing sharply from the desk and eyes closing from the crash of pleasure through his system as wet, sticky warmth flooded against the constraining pants. Erwin lingered moment, as Rivaille breathed long and deep, eyes still closed and basking in the afterglow as his heart slowed from the rapid pace. At length, he opened his eyes, locking gazes with Erwin who brushed hair from his forehead – he was sweaty, Rivaille realized with a jolt of disgust even though lethargy turned his limbs to lead.

He needed a shower and he needed one _now. _

Rivaille wiggled against the body that was too close and too hot and too tempting to curl up against and sleep. Not when he was filthy and needed to be clean – and Erwin seemed to understand as he stepped back – eyes never leaving him. Rivaille stood, though nearly stumbled on wobbly legs, and hesitated… did Erwin want him to return the favor? His eyes were questioning as they met blue and Erwin smirked, brushing knuckles down his cheek in an almost terrifyingly intimate gesture.

"Next time. Go shower… but meet me at my room."

A nod, almost without thought and Rivaille was already halfway to the door before he registered the immediate obedience. He might have scowled, but really, at the moment he didn't care. He wanted elaboration on that 'next time' and… well, he really wouldn't_ mind _spending more time with the man.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

In comfortable clothes and freshly showered, Rivaille sat in Erwin's room while the man polished his boots. A cigarette hung loosely between his lips and he inhaled deeply on the stick before exhaling in a long plume out the opened window. It was comfortable in here, with twin cups of tea and the lingering smell of _Erwin _and the low crackle of a fire and chiming of bugs outside. Peaceful.

Rivaille dropped his head back against the stone wall, curled into one of the chairs and lost in thought. He couldn't be angry over earlier – he'd enjoyed it and there was no use denying that… there was no point in refusing to acknowledge he wouldn't mind doing it again – perhaps somewhere more comfortable than a desk. A glance at Erwin told him the blonde was lost in thought, though Rivaille had assumed he'd been called back to talk or some shit.

"What's on your mind?"

Erwin looked up, locking gazes and blinking a moment as though to pull himself back to the present. He sighed, set the boot on the floor and wiped his hands clean before relocating to the bed.

"There's talks of funding being cut… it is why this next expedition is happening so soon. A lot is riding on our success."

Rivaille hummed, it made a lot of sense.

"You found out that day didn't you?"

Erwin nodded, ran fingers through his hair with a small yawn before he stood again, paced to the wardrobe and began to shirk clothing for the night. He had no shame in nudity, the military desensitized soldiers to such things – and after earlier Rivaille had no shame in openly sizing the man up beneath his layers of uniform.

It damn sure wasn't a bad sight.

"I don't anticipate the results will be as… promising as we need. Too many are too new for this run."

"This run? What's special about it?"

Rivaille bounced one leg over the chair, head resting against his knuckles as Erwin padded back across the room, sliding fingers through Rivaille's hair though he didn't make eye contact, still lost to his own thoughts. Rivaille pulled at the hem of his pants, tugging the man closer and biting down on his hip before looking up.

'_Stop overthinking.' _

Erwin offered the twitch of a smile, fingers still curled in Rivaille's hair.

"What would you fight for, if you had to choose something?"

There was silence, though again Rivaille knew what his answer would be without the pause – he still hesitated offering up such private information.

"The children."

If Erwin was surprised he didn't show it, and the solemn moment passed as quickly as it came.

* * *

**Notes: **

I really didn't mean for this chapter to get so long o_o but ayooo ... and I'm just a little worried the ending scenes feel... rushed? idk x_x

Reviewers: Thank you for all the reviews ;D I'm glad all of you are enjoying reading this kuku and that the flight scene was so much enjoyed. I had terrible fun writing it.

Written to

Blue October – _You Make Me Smile _& _She's My Ride Home _

Pomp & Circumstance – Kamiya Hiroshi ( I figured the moan sounds worked well hurk )


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: **Some aspects of BDSM and D/s will be twisted, inaccurate or modified for the sake of the story and will not be a reflection upon the reality of a healthy BDSM or D/s relationship.

**Warning: **Potentially graphic – graphic & explicit content.

* * *

**L'humanité D'un Monstre**

* * *

_Working jobs in the streets, first as a grunt and then running the deals taught me early how to handle manipulations and see through deceit. Not all of what I learned from was the best or must subtle examples of it – they were some of the most brutal. _

_It was all really a matter of making the victim think you were trustworthy and depending on the situation, that could be disgustingly easy. The children that were sent off to work in various holes of the underworld were offered shelter, food, clothing, a place to sleep and protection in exchange for their compliance. They were trained for their jobs – though those jobs would suck the soul from them and there would come a time when they would realize the veil that was pulled over their eyes and curse me and their keepers with the bitterest of words before sleeping each night. _

_Hold out a hand, offer something someone needs and they will take it if they are desperate enough. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

He went through the morning in a detached state, not really hearing Hanji's prattle beside him as he nibbled at breakfast and mused over the night before. He wasn't… angry, he supposed – but unimpressed was definitely there and plot for his own sort of vengeance for it was swirling in his mind. Nothing drastic, well not drastic to _him _– but perhaps Erwin would disagree. They'd spoke the night before, of many things – but the one which flared brightest in his memory was the discussion of some sort of _relationship. _

Tch, as if they were star struck noble shits with nothing better to do than linger on such ridiculous things… but even that wasn't the problem so much as the nature of it.

He blinked slowly, tuning Hanji out as he swirled the ending of the night around once again.

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

"_You mentioned a next time – you didn't intend a one-off I'm guessing." _

_Blunt and to the point, Rivaille lounged against the chair he occupied since returning to Erwin's room, another cigarette between his fingers and smoke gusting from his lips. He never turned to look at the blonde, it didn't seem necessary._

_The silence stretched and he heard Erwin move something – likely paperwork - before speaking. _

"_Yes. Which is something I would like to talk to you about…" _

_Oh shit. Rivaille cast him a wary, side-glance but only nodded for Erwin to continue._

"_A relationship… although it isn't exactly of the conventional nature… and will take more time than tonight to explain." _

_Rivaille was looking at him now, eyes sharp and studying every twitch or movement (or lack thereof) in Erwin's body. He was being far more cautious than usual._

"_Domination." _

_Rivaille tensed, eyes narrowing. Oh he knew all about those sort of relationships – there were clubs for them in Sina and he'd been in a few, meeting a client or dropping off a delivery. They were intense, fascinating – he would be lying if he said he never stopped to look or found himself curious about the scenes enacted on stages or in private rooms of the lavish clubs. _

_But it was sudden, and it had every instinct and developed paranoid twitch wiggling to life and blaring off warnings._

"_No." _

_Erwin seemed taken aback, he blinked once, brows furrowing only briefly before his expression smoothed once again. He seemed confused, and his silence prompted Rivaille to elaborate._

"_I hardly know you – and I don't particularly trust you to wrap another shackle around me… how am I to know it is not just another method to keep a stray under heel?" _

_Erwin's face twisted, disgust flashing in his eyes at the very implication and his posture screamed offended._

"_I assure you that is not my intent." _

_Rivaille shrugged, disinterested, and looked away. _

"_It is quite sudden and more than a bit suspicious given these recent… problems." _

_Erwin sighed, elbows resting atop his desk and fingers lacing. _

"_And how would I go about that?" _

_Rivaille chuckled darkly, surely Erwin didn't think doing what he'd done would inspire trust in Rivaille? Yes, perhaps at first – but the bitter tang of betrayal was still fresh on his mind, and he wasn't one to release a problem so quickly or easily when it was avoided and not addressed. He respected Erwin, admired his terrifyingly analytical brain and that ruthlessness that was so like his own. But trust him enough to put control and power and influence (even more) in his hands? No._

"_Well, you'll just have to figure that out – won't you? After all, it was your confident declaration that you could give me everything I needed." _

_Erwin's face was a mask, stoic and cold as he observed Rivaille, who met his eyes with his own empty gaze. Yes, if Erwin wanted anything more than quick, physical pleasure as any damn soldier would and likely did engage in – then he would have to prove himself worthy of it. Rivaille wasn't one for emotional attachments – and from his observations, such relationships came with heavy emotional and psychological attachment. _

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

A sharp nudge to his shoulder drew Rivaille from his recollection and he turned to Hanji with a blank stare and was answered with a grin and a nod toward the door.

"Breakfast is about to end, you seemed pretty out of it…"

They left it hanging, but he could see by the spark in Hanji's eye that elaboration was wanted to feed that burning, ridiculous curiosity. He wasn't going to feed it, it was no one's business but his and Erwin's. So instead, Rivaille stood with a nod of thanks and deposited his half-eaten plate of food and fell in step with Hanji as they exited the castle for the dusty practice grounds.

When they arrived and fell into formation, snapping a sharp salute, the five men and women standing before them returned it and the Commander motioned them to be at ease. He was a tall man, perhaps an inch taller than Erwin – but not quite as tall as Mike. He looked strikingly similar to Erwin as well, and perhaps there was some relation there. It would definitely explain the blonde Squad Leader's grooming to take the position. The man offered them a brief smile that would do little for comfort given the jagged scar that marred his face, as he stepped forward and scanned the soldiers before him.

"At the end of the month we will be departing for the Forty-Fifth Expedition beyond the walls. It is why your training has been so rigorous – and will continue to be so as we attempt to prepare you in this unduly short amount of time."

There were murmurs, but they died as quickly as they started when the man gestured. He was all power and presence and authority and Rivaille couldn't imagine lingering in his presence for long without some urge to challenge that standing.

"Today you will be split into squads and will complete training with those squads. I expect nothing but the best efforts of each and every one of you – your lives and those of your comrades rides on your ability to follow orders and work cohesively."

He stepped back, gravelly voice dying out as he gestured to the Squad Leaders. Erwin stepped forward, eyes sweeping the crowd before he began to recite names.

"Hanji Zoë and Levi."

The final two to fall from his tongue and whispers, expected but annoying, followed those whose names were called. After all, Erwin led the advance guard right behind the Commander and they would only be comprised of those most capable of handling themselves in the field – or who were assumed to be the most capable. It was expected that whispers would follow.

The other Captains called for their selections and without further ado, the squads split for their various training areas – and where they would meet their senior comrades. Rivaille was indifferent, unsurprised he was selected for Erwin's squad given the situation. However, he had little desire to bond with any of them – to forge the close knit kind of friendships that was so heavily implied to be needed for necessary unity. Professionalism was better, in his opinion, so he would go through the training and do his job as he always had. Emotions only clouded judgment after all.

It didn't last long, Rivaille wasn't twenty steps before Hanji dropped an arm around his shoulders and grinned down at him. He was almost instantly assaulted by a foul odor that brought memories of the SIna slums rushing back to mind and the awful scent of the unclean and Rivaille jerked away from the offensive source of that smell. His face wrinkled in disgust as Hanji continued to grin.

"When was the last time you showered?"

Hanji paused, smile gone and expression thoughtful before shrugging and skipping past the topic.

"Dunno, sooo you excited to start training in a squad?"

Eyes gleaming, Hanji looked nearly feral with whatever insane thoughts were passing through their mind and Rivaille rolled his eyes.

"I'm sure you're excited enough for both of us."

~ ~ * éclater * ~ ~

He wasn't excited nor ready for working in a close-knit squad. There was a level of communication expected – practically required to function productively that put a stint in Rivaille's practiced detachment. They trained together, learned to read the other's body language and react accordingly – they spent free time together, forming bonds that would inevitably end in tragedy and heartache. Still they spoke, they shared stories over meals Rivaille was drug to and forced to endure – even in silence. They spoke of families and children, wives, fiancés – they were innocent, unstained. Horribly naïve and still continued about their blind, headlong rush into despair.

Rivaille didn't see the point, but he didn't broach the topic either and skirted the edges of their forming friendships and unity.

They were efficient, ruthless when in training and leisurely in down time. Sharing smiles and laughs Rivaille long ago forgot how to produce and didn't bother trying.

They didn't know how to respond to him and he didn't give a shit about interacting beyond what was necessary with them. So he spoke with Hanji, when the pest forced their presence upon him; and watched and listened from a distance.

And couldn't deny the fucking protective urges building in him regarding these people he looked upon as children.

They were so like children, all smiles and wonderment and dreams much as those orphans at the home in Sina. He found he couldn't wash away that mental parallel and it irked him, drove him to distance himself as much as possible… but Erwin would always look over with that slight frown and little furrow between his eyebrows as though questioning what he was doing. As though _disappointed _because he knew, and likely understood.

Rivaille was not a man of sentimentality and he did not plan on becoming one but still he knew these people, though they didn't know him in the same way and he offered support, encouragement – even if it was silent, from the sidelines… their glances in training spoke of their appreciation of whatever he gave, however little that was.

It was so very different than the strangers they all were to each other when first arriving, or even the tentative friendships that had solidified and would only continue to do so the longer they survived.

But as the days counted down, Rivaille couldn't stop the knot in his stomach; one of anticipation and dread that formed before a particularly perilous job. This was unknown, it was dangerous and the chances of returning alive were slim to none. That was if things went well, if they went badly… well, there was a reason the Recon Corps were looked upon as fools.

* * *

**Notes: **This took forever for a lot of nothing… -sigh- I think I've hit a wall, I know what I want to happen for key chapters but the things in between are so filler-ish it's off-putting but necessary. Anyway enjoy, the next chapter should have some more excitement.

Also ran into Wildeve (writer of A Change of Gait so go check that out if by some weird happenstance you haven't yet B| ) on Omegle XD random and cool kekeke gogo Corporal = 3= straight trying to own the cam himself –snicker-

Anyway read &review appreciated and thanks for reviewing on the last chapter even if I haven't gotten to respond to you *A* been somewhat busier than is really normal for me.

Written to;

Dir en Grey: _THE FINAL (Withering To Death)_

Dir en Grey: _Dead Tree_

Dir en Grey: _Saku_


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